Yellows and golds,
Brown,
Dry,
In two thirteen August the ground,
Dead and brown,
Crisp,
Fall struck the imaginary gonk,
Not this year,
Not twenty twenty-two,
The yards are still lush and green,
A storm in Florida nearing land,
I dream of awakening in my small home surrounded by tall pines,
Tamaracks the only pine that changes to yellow,
Red Maples popping up here any there beyond my window,
A wood fire place glowing,
White wicker chair near like at Cub Lake,
Two glasses of Merlow poured,
Wood popping in my small cook stove,
My wife in her chair while I cook,
Our cats and two dogs in their favorite resting places,
Heike Shangrala,
Nestled in Wisconsin’s north woods,
Two elk walking by,
I’m older but finally at peace,
A writers piece of paradise,
A lesbian home where love and family are always welcome,
Val's Whitewolf Books 