Too many and various
The autumn glade too rich for maybe words
The thimbleberry leaves fat and green along the creek
Then golden, then tan higher up the slope
White snowberries bending down their bushes
And hazel, and maple, and one dogwood half gone salmon-red
Spreading over a deer trail, below
Two Douglas firs that lean together
Above all
But that is only sight
There is the slanting sweet and earthy scent
Of fall
The bursts of notes and the snap of wings
As juncos thrust and feint
Beneath the big leaves
The whoop and giggle of a quail alarmed at
The sound of her own footsteps
And from high in the air
As pure and distant as heaven
The kinglets' calls drifting down
to rest in the forest
Garden