the squirrels scramble.
for one last nut to crack.
autumn not yet in full bloom.
the trees remain three-quarters green.
the sheen of a barely broken sky.
oversees small change, all lie in wait.
for cold and the white of lazy days.
when one dreams of fires and good books.
wolf takes over, live for a day and then.
repeat the function and make things new.
serious reprocussions of the past engulf.
but no one dwells on truth.