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.