I never tire of a peachy sueded dawn,
the nap of clouds brushed back
to reveal the start of another
blue day. I never tire of a light jacket
and bare legs in these the dregs
I never tire of bean stalks crawling
up their twine canes, scarlet blooms
still blooming even though the bees
are long gone and the harvest past.
I never tire of begonias and impatiens
persistence beyond the autumn moon,
their flower heads spotlights among
ankle deep maple leaves jostling
in the unseasonably warm breeze.
Anorexic trees, limbs naked now,
remind me something is amiss
and sandals in the front hall
confirm this as do the mittens still
waiting for cold hands and the
down settled unfluffed in winter
parkas in the closet.
Outside the lilies revive and the
Rideau River flows unfrozen into the
ocean that rises in rebellion with
the blood of Arctic glaciers spilled
on our shores.
But I never tire of a peachy dawn
on my tropical island in the north.