the muted colors of the in-between world
that is november in my yellowstone home
feebly blanket the terrain in dull tones

new spires being born as cliff faces yield
blasted by gusts of super-volcanic sand
in winds that coat even the river in dust

four napping bison seem comfortably huge
their massive bodies mimic the mountains
revealing how this is truly their home

a bald eagle surveys from a split-rail fence
her mate above circling the trout-filled river
their intertwined lives proving love's depth