An Autumnal Poem

The drupes on the dogwoods that bloomed Aren’t the only red here in these shadowy woods Because the maple leaves are turning now In a few, shortening days the Almighty Will dip a big hog bristle brush into Paint the three shades of fire and let loose With a thousand foothill-wide strokes By rifle deer season, all but the evergreens Will yield to the coming winter’s turn Sunlight will reach the forest floor And the trees will give back to the earth Has it ever occurred to you That the cooling shade doesn’t fall away Until we don’t need it anymore? And boy, does it go out in style