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.

She thought it was

the autumn sun

shining on the maple tree,

but no

it was suspended leaves

defying the grey

with red-gold embers

self-lit in the gloom.

It was the spark

within the dead,

the nuances of yesterday,

the fire of life

banked against all odds.

.

(c) 2010, 2013 Betty Hayes Albright

.

(Latest photo taken this morning, 11/13/11.)

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From dark, wet lawns

the gathered leaves flee

to the gutters, the streets.

They dance in circles

of cinnamon orange

until giddy, they tumble

in sun-dried whorls

eager to catch

the next storm

out of town.

.

(c) 1999, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

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