A stuttering wind blows across
Clouds tinted by the falling sun,
Brittle air softened by colors of peach-gold

And a faded azure blue.

A late flock of Sandhill cranes flies over,
Pale bodies blending in the
Fleeing white above with legs
Flowing like dark streamers,
Their celestial cries falling  to
Earth like harsh, chiding rain.

The trees below in the valley
Are massed into graying darkness
As the fading light steals
The color of nature,
Creeps from field to hillock
And all prepare for the
Rising of the Corn moon.

Even the frogs in the pond
Listen between croaks
For the intention of the night.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2009

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