I am driving.
    Sun cracks the gray dawn
    across the Taconic valley
    to my right, paralleling the Thruway.

    Low mist reflects silver,
    a lake in the distance.
    So-orange light grows
    and the valley widens.

    Orange, green, this new autumn,
    fall, fall, drop, rest, renew.
    Leaves turn through cooling air,
    consider coming leaf-rain.

    Snow is waiting,
    spring is waiting,
    summer sleeps,
    I trust the cycle to continue after I join the orange loamy ground.


    Daniel Friedman's Poetry & Short Stories
    Daniel Friedman's bio

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