All along the back roads, people are pulling
in, pulling in -
sitting-out chairs and fountains, mulching bushes and gardens,
they are boarding up mailboxes , and then trading lawnmowers for snow blowers
out in the storage shed.
In the meantime, the temperatures vary daily, almost
hot spells, then plummeting c-o-l-d.
As the forests whisper and whistle, the
winds rushing about unimpeded by leaf.
All the country colors begin to fade, as
if quietly going to bed. Leaving behind vestiges of growth, the legacy of seed.
Or perhaps. an older plant that falls deeply asleep each fall, only to awaken
with new life come spring.
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