October: A Garden Poem

The cool air,

the slight breeze,

the soft sun

& long drawn out

shadows on the last 

gold stubble

of summer's wild 

rye. Almost silence

sits outside the window,

the soft patter of dog feet,

the very occasion bird chirp,

crickets all but snuffed 

out by the coming 

cold.  A distant chain 

saw cuts wood 

for winter.

It's good to be done

with heat.

It's good to be done

with watering.

Hell, it's even good

to be done 

with the garden other 

than dumping piles

of leaves.

It is settling time.

Darkness and cold

cover the need to do,

allow time