Pre-schoolers can squeal in the face of a wind

that delivers a fierce rain

to fog my glasses

strip coloring leaves from trees

and cleanse away summer’s buildup of decay.

Gone soon the rotting salmon

washed away with

the tasty trout

now forced by flood water to retreat from the spawning grounds

to deep water lakes

surviving on little

but the promise of a rich spring.

Our fall table will groan with plenty

so will the one set in winter when snow and ice

open up ground for those willing to lean

into a stiff northern wind.