Morning wears crisp cotton and smoky tulle
woven through with gold light.

North Shore mountains are sensibly dressed
in darkest denim, their tops
hidden, cozy under unrolling
bolts of blue- and gray-tinged fleece.

The park has thrown on a shawl
of gaily embroidered leaves
in tangerine, scarlet, yellow,
wine, olive.

Even dwarf cedar has accessorized
her sensible green boucle
with red leaf appliques
of delicate Japanese maple

This poem first appeared in Cappers (October 2004).
Used here with the author's permission.