A brief respite from the heat,
gentle summer rains
brighten vintage patina
giving temporary false view
of what must have been.
No matter
my taste is rust
my taste is rustic.
Bends and dings
chips and wears
a kinder reality of
earthly age.
Untended gardens succumb
to a thirst not given
prairie perennials
set seed for new shelter
of soon to succumb leaf fall.
Ruby and gilded
shards of oak and maple
float downward
blanketing the nursery
of next years brood
and wee shelters
long vacant...wait,
wait for the still
wait for the silence.
