I haven't seen gold
or red plumage
for many autumns-
nature's course seems
to have forgotten Fall,
leaping from pale green-
hardly Forest at all-
to something brown,
or naked.

Yet here I am in November
seeing a feast of hues
this year;
a dash of crimson
alongside something,
resembling yellow,
still clinging with its last
ounce of sinuous strength
to the branch, the vine,
life.

I can be thankful
for this respite
between equinox and solstice,
between long and short,
hot and cold,
a pleasant moment of peace.