Sunday afternoon
under the Hackberry
in an almost-warm breeze
whose gusts brush the leaves together softly
and set the wind chime singing.
Light and shadow
play on the green-turning-to-yellow
leaves.
The burgundy-orange berries
are more visible now
as leaves drop and float
to the ground.
I only remove myself
from this exquisite place
because I know there is
more to explore
along Zig Zag Lane.
Sure enough,
leaves glow gold
against a cloudless blue sky.
And there are a few
red ones.


As I arrive at the prairie labyrinth,
there is a large coyote
hunting for something—
in broad daylight—
in the pasture
below.
I watch until
it walks through the fence
and sprints away.

Meadowlarks fly up
from the labyrinth’s tall-grass walls
as I enter.
Lavender Asters,
bright yellow Broomweed
and fluffy white flowers
bloom along the path.
I make my way in
to the center,
lay a long time
on the prickly dried grass,
under the cloudless sky,
in the now-warm breeze.
Slowly,
I take the long walk
out.

It is the golden hour
before I turn towards home,
and suddenly I see something
I’ve never seen before.
Once, at the golden hour
when a friend and I drove past a woods,
the light struck jillions of spider webs
hanging from tree to tree.
It was magical to suddenly see a world
shining golden
that is invisible
except when the sun
strikes it just right
and someone is there
to see.
Now,
there,
in the grass—
grass I have walked in
hundreds of times—
I see another version:
strands of gold
spun from one dry stick of grass
to another
cover the ground.
Silently, spiders
have spun thin, silken ribbons
all through the grass,
and only now,
with the sun about to disappear
for the day,
does the light catch
the threads
and reveal
a world
we don’t even
see.