Autumn afternoon—
 
my neighbor’s cigarette smoke
 
drifts across my fence.

 
 
 

Autumn afternoon—
 
a torn spiderweb flutters
 
in a gentle breeze.

 
 
 

A new spiderweb
 
near the refrigerator
 
traps a hapless fly.

 
 
 

Frost will lay them low,
 
but my brilliant marigolds
 
keep shining for now.

 
 
 

Out for a brief walk,
 
I watch for morning glories
 
but see only weeds.

 
 
 

Unexpected rain—
 
the drought-stricken cottonwoods
 
lap up every drop.

 
 
 

Third day of autumn—
 
someone’s left an apple core
 
at the wayside shrine.

 
 
 

The way through autumn
 
has been traveled many times—
 
something’s always new.

 
 
 

Where the river bends,
 
cottonwood leaves turn yellow—
 
first day of autumn.

 
 
 

On summer’s last day
 
we linger over breakfast—
 
unexpected rain.