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By Andrea L. Alterman
The meadow noises now are slowing.
While before they leapt out of the awns
atop sun bleached, drought stiffened grasses,
these days I hear the small insistent chorus
of cicadas, grasshoppers, worker bees, and hummingbirds
pausing more often now as the autumnal equinox
approaches, the slow suffering in a summer sun
with humidity smearing the details of the afternoon
ends in severely clear mornings tipped
with frost. Pairs of yellow butterflies
must wait before they begin spiraling up
like voices in a madrigal, reaching
higher to escape the extending shadow.
© Copyright 2004, Andrea L. Alterman, All Rights Reserved
© Copyright 1997, 2020, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 03/06/2005