In my small corner of southern California
Autumn is rarely aflame in bright colors
(Unless there are wildfires).
The sycamores lining our street fade to sickly yellow,
Then gradually drop brown, crunchy leaves.
Many of the other trees stay a dull green.
So I’m heartened that our landscapers
Have chosen not to trim the bushes
Around our front walkway, not just yet.
Instead, they’ve left untouched the orange
Blooms that erupt on unruly spikes,
Beloved of area hummingbirds and bees.
Later, when the rains come (if they come)
Trimming will again recreate the squared shapes
That let us imagine a well-ordered world.
Elsewhere, in the canyons, bushes that
Conserved their energy during the longest
Days now pulse with pale blue flowers.
Learning the seasons of each different place
Requires patience, and a willingness to
Renew our wonder at this varied, vibrant planet.
Jinny's Occasional Poems 