When the sun is past midway
in it’s austral journey
and it’s starting to appear
a little watered to the eye.
When the temperatures at night
drop well below the freezing mark
and those damn mosquitoes
have long since given up the fight.
When I’m walking through a shelter belt
and fallen leaves
boil up around my feet
and Alice Slough is bivouac
to a hundred thousand ducks and geese.
It’s then the golden days of summer
surrender to the polished amber of the fall.
It’s the air I think,
mostly it’s the air.
Looking at the world
through the crystal Autumn air.
Prairie Poet 