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.