October Poem

The tanoaks masted this Autumn. They have not in years.
Their phage has ended, and the dead ones stand gray and quiet
waiting for storms and fungus to bring them into soil.
And redwoods whisper all around:
It will be a wet winter.

I remember laying half-awake in soft darkness
listening to her breathe, my chest almost aching with it---
wondering how it is possible to love anything so much.
Perhaps I carry it better now.

And this morning, driving, a red-shouldered hawk
stoops across my path, her shoulders bright chestnut
her barred pinions bright and cleansed by last night's rain.

The woodpeckers will eat well this year; already I see them
feasting on the new acorns, caching them away
for a leaner winter. Their chosen trees are still full of largesse
from years before the oaks faltered. But they made it through.
The world is new again. We walk;
my lover lifts a tiny spider from my hair,
freeing her into misty dawn.