On Sunday I awoke with a quest
and mounted my slender steed.
I flew south with the crow
and then east with the creek
winding smoothly
through leaf-filtered light.

Into the woods I rode
on the road to the center of all
over a carpet of early fall
through the sweet smell of decay
past bright flashes of beauty
--a green leaf painted with bird shit--
battling skyward
between eagle and heron.

At home, elves feasted
from the spiced cauldron
of orange harvest squash.