The back porch is cool this morning with only the expectation of early fall.
The grass seems glazed with rain although it’s only the morning sprinkler
forestalling the inevitable death cycle when the grass will brown and
fall’s leaves will cover its hidden demise. Yet still
the cool promise of fall will arrive for a short time before it heralds winter’s conquest.
For now, the air is stilled crisp, filled with the scent of windfall apples
ripening into hard cider on the ground for the benefit of nether critters.
The tiniest of flying creatures sit high on the thinnest branches awaiting the sun.
From their height they can see the glow as the sun appears, just
a slight ribbon of light brings forth their songs. They will not sing long.
As the brightness glides across the morning sky, their voices will quiet
to hide from those who would take advantage of their youthful naivete.
Pat Tyrer is a writer and poet who lives in the Texas Panhandle where she hikes Palo Duro Canyon bird watching when the sun is up and star gazing when it’s not. When not writing, she teaches creative writing and American literature at West Texas A&M University in Canyon, Texas.