Fall Arras

It was a tortoise-shell hardness of a sky,
belligerent with smudges of fast-moving
pockets of darkly threatening vapour.
Gusty blasts of some giant's ill-tempered
breath gave morose promise of weather
yet to come. But by some trick of welcome
providence that same wind dispersed the
chaotic clouds, finally leaving that great
dome clear and blue, introducing a blaze
of sun to the unmistakable fall equation.

Shafts of sunlight glimmered off stark
white wood splinters mounded beside
ash and poplar where the immature trunks
had been precisely incised, notched to be
stored within beaver lodges. A small,
muscular black, green and gold snake lay
still among a riot of leaves, worshipping
the sun. A hairy woodpecker intently
thrummed its homage to the season.