A Sound I Can’t Hear
Higher in the Rockies,
winds tune themselves
on the mountains and Ponderosa needles.
September cold, the wind blows asters
flat for seconds, then yellow-eyed,
they spring back purple as any distant peak.
Steamy, bubbling clouds announce summer’s end
and spill over the bowl edge of the Sangre de Christos.
A few aspens huddle near the tree-line,
they hear the clouds and yellow their leaves
before colder winds bring them
a harsher change of costume.
These aspens reveal the first vague
map of Autumn’s advance where
mountains, clouds, and trees
hear the howling winds I can’t.
Steve Heins
Thank you, Robert.
Beautiful!