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Poem

Burning bush livens the yard with pops of reddish pink and orange.
Purple butterfly bush, in a delicate way, surprises me, at her head.
Seventy two degrees, a nice surprise for October twenty-seventh.
Birds swoop in, amazed, to feeders, I just put up the eleventh.
Found my red garden rake on the ground near the giant double oak.
Other treasurers popped up, along the walk in the yard, no joke.
I sit in the sun, marveling at the beauty and serenity of my yard.
So glad I am a gardener, painter, cartoonist, one with little guard.
Many choices, so where on earth does a creative mind sit?
The highs, the low’s, the trees, the sky.  Where do I fit?
On the ground, studying ants and bees?
Faeries and wasps, garden snakes and fleas?
Autumn smells permeate my soul.
Glorious reminder that the day is whole.
I ponder and wander, up and down, and beyond.
Admiring my ferns, violets, seeds, walnuts, and frond.
Spring is refreshing, summer wonderful too,
But autumn and winter they truly renew.
A gorgeous red leaf floats down and lands on my shoe.
A reminder that people are cyclical too.

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