Already Yellow

in the foliage of the locust
across the street. Already bronze in the oaks,
orange in the dogwoods. Already the mornings
are dimmer, though that may be
the overcast brought by the onshore flow.
Bees hum sleepily in the lavender. Grass dozes,
tawny as lions, waiting for rain
to roar to green life again.

It won't be long. My bones can feel
the moisture roiling just off the coast, rising
into occasional thunderheads that peek
over the Coast Range, throwing long afternoon shadows
across the city. Dragging veils of mist
through the West Hills at dawn. Already yellow,
the locust drops its flowers in the street,
staining passing cars gold with pollen.
I deadhead the roses. Everything is waiting.
Everything will begin again soon.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside