Too many and various The autumn glade too rich for maybe words The thimbleberry leaves fat and green along the creek Then golden, then tan higher up the slope White snowberries bending down their bushes And hazel, and maple, and one dogwood half gone salmon-red Spreading over a deer trail, below Two Douglas firs that lean together Above all But that is only sight
There is the slanting sweet and earthy scent Of fall The bursts of notes and the snap of wings As juncos thrust and feint Beneath the big leaves The whoop and giggle of a quail alarmed at The sound of her own footsteps And from high in the air As pure and distant as heaven The kinglets' calls drifting down to rest in the forest Garden