In Autumn, slowness awakens,
and grasshoppers sit on asphalt roads,
lethargic from night's cold,
waiting to pop like sausage and grease
on a hot skillet.
Bees lumber with aching wings
sore from summer flight;
nestling deep in late season wildflowers,
fragrance mild and sweet.
Aspens shiver and leaves glide to the ground
providing quilts to warm the earth
before the final cover
of fresh blankets of snow.
Fast flowing water, once jumping, catching air
looking for clouds, now climbs over rocks
pausing for breath and gathering strength
before moving on.
Time is changed,
and sunlight mellows
as voices disappear.
The slowness has arrived
the air thick with quiet
it drips off everything
like wild mountain honey.
