of the brown leaves, they fall to the
ground in random descending patterns,
collecting at the tree's feet, just in
front of the opening in the bark where
the squirrels hide their nuts for the
anticipated cold weather... more out
of instinct and habit than the dry cold
that blankets the ground... the end of
the day raises the night's curtain,
sending a message to all little creatures
it is time to hide... a soft rain melts
the dead leaves together that have
inappropriately overlapped... sounds
of the night blend with the eeriness
that created them as birds tuck their
heads under their wings for warmth,
tilted stars fall through the heavens
on their way to the horizons they
never reach... a poet's glance
through the windows explores the
night as their reassuring gaze reminds
the darkness that is being watched.
November 6, 2023
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