This season is gone,
trailing its pungent remains:
leaf rot, mushrooms, uneaten fruit
decaying back to their elements,
covering the deep black realm
of water, spoors, roots,
unseen, fertile, mysterious.
I will remember this when winter
sinks its talons into the landscape,
summer’s final relenting breath,
autumn with a last raucous fling,
our desire to see out another season.
It is the way with every living thing
in this passing, fading pasture.