The Browning of Things

The browning of things has begun . . .

the leaves are moving in constant sway
to the winds – time, change, is in the air –
as east to west and back again, maples
and elms, oaks and birch, surrender their
color ecstasies to the browning season

the ground is littered with the detritus
of love – crunchy, fun, kicking-up-heels –
love – of life and cycles and repeatings
as east to west and back again, maples
and elms, oaks and birch, surrender their
life clinging to the browning season

inside onions in butter, hamburger in oil
chicken with a bit of garlic, surge and
simmer and get that good skillet brown
as east to west and back again, maples
and elms, oaks and birch, surrender their
claim to tourist fame to the browning season

as outside fawns turn without effort from
golden butter (the color we name for them)
to brown laced with a bit of black up the spine
the better to hide, to blend, the better camouflage
as east to west and back again, maples
and elms, oaks and birch, surrender their
lives in a final bid at the hoped-for resurrection
of things, come spring, the thing hoped for
come browning season