A Short Drive into Autumn
September has mottled the forest maples.
South of here, zombie cicadas
chafe heated thighs,
but North of Tippecanoe
Shawnee trails lead into autumn.
We take photographs,
but the green still smothers
scattered red and yellow threads.
You touch a mossy tree trunk,
as if sensing the smoldering fuse
that will soon burn stale air
into golden sparks - a fire
that will paint from the inside out.
Too early, she says.
We head back down I-75,
where summer still consumes
the glut and vapor
of unemptied trash cans.
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