Remnants
  of a plastic world
    haphazardly dropped
      in the duff of pinecones and bracken
        litter this redwood path.

Our thoughtless leavings -
  shiny mylar strings
    and red straws -
      must sadden the bluejays
         watching from hidden branches.

I want to sit
  in the autumn-orange
    of an old apple tree
Climb into the
  golden heart
     of winter coming
Watch yesterday's leaves
  edy in the wind,
    then swirl to shape
Crisp yellow carpets
   too soon to lie
     beneath the snow...