Ramblings On Dew On A Brown Leaf

If he shoots down the Route 56 By-Pass,
in the fall, heading toward Indiana County,
the view from the car will be mesmerizing.
It's up, soon.
We will take friends, bobbing up in the
backseat, time-honored conversations glittering
with the countryside.
The degree of heat will drop,
as we find ourselves raking dead leaves
into huge piles and, afterwards,
out of the back shed, I will push a
forty-year old red wheelbarrow, to dump
them down into the woodlands.
At summer's end,
the measure of time stops and the porch
is still cautious where bumblebees hover
near the hanging plants. It is as if a celebration
were over,and the chocolate cake from my
September birthday party are sighs left behind,
knowing the weather that appeared so
perfect in those humid months will
change now.

It will be a day to enjoy.
When colors burst on the scene,
from high in the trees like hills.
Westmoreland County, shapely
landscape that marks my hometown
in the earth. Hill vision, a look-alike
for Robin Hood country.

Silky flags are being flown year-round,
no matter what the season,
some of them American flags,
delicate in their sign of protection,
some of them butterflies,
flapping free and at ease,
like dead leaves in the distance gayly
surrounding them in the chilly wind.