Golden-hue on dewy blades of green, Cool air settles in, A bee floats among petals. Foliage wanes, The forest floor emerges, Creatures rush to gather, Sustenance. The last we will see of the bee, More rarely will the chipmunk peep, All hoping to prevail, Their final moments perhaps, Burrowed. With them, Possibility, A new generation in spring, Or eternal sleep.
© 2026 Austin Lochan Dodd