Female worker bees are working long hours
gathering autumn nectar for the colony’s winter.
Like me, they’re storing carbohydrates and protein
for when they stay inside, although unlike
bees, I hope not to die there.
Autumn’s not colored foliage or apple picking.
For some, a harvesting or hunting Moon.
Acorns falling like a broken clock tick-tocking.
“Eulogy” in Greek means a “good word,”
quietly spoken for things and people gone.
Photo of Denali by Tim Rains, National Park Service.
And suddenly, summer green becomes autumn orange.
Termination dust, that Alaskan high altitude snow
signals summer’s end. But not here. Now.
No mountaintops. Just lawns and fallen leaves.
No blueberries for bear’s dessert before hibernation.
The birds sense winter coming this morning.
Sparrows flutter, fight and search the eaves
for hiding places from the next season.
Blue jays, cardinals, chickadees, all anxiously feeding,
reminding me of things still left undone.
That first leaf to abandon the summer –
at first I thought it was sad,
giving up early because of a few
cool days. But tonight, it feels brave.
Letting it end before it must end.