Today the fountain where
I sit and dip my feet
is half-shaded.
A month ago, the sun
baked, now
it warms.

I feel the creeping shadow
of autumn
the turn of the year
the descent into the dark.

A time to wait
to rest from blooming;
to let things germinate
beneath the earth.

I gather in my harvest
count the seeds,
store them up.

Cover over the fields.
And wait.