Autumn Gold

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On the hogbacks
where we hike,
deciduous trees
drop their leaves.
So many shades of gold
suspended
from neighboring branches.

Prim evergreens,
the pinon and juniper
hang onto their green.
Frugality their motto,
they change costume
every three years or so,
replacing each needle
only as it wears through.

My dog, nose to the ground,
skirts cactus spines.
Some trees,
already bare,
admit sky’s blue,
their outlines stark
as a seamstress’
mannequin. Poised
between what is
and what may be,
one tree near my home
mirrors fall’s
indecisive weather,
half-green, half-red.
I cut and piece lines.
Words, stitched together,
recall autumn’s fire.

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