Is that Beaver Falls I hear

 Is that Beaver Falls I hear

Riding the wind from yonder

through the spaces of vacated branches?

Can I see the eagles' nest exposed,

Where did the gaggle along shore go?

Perhaps flown south; who knows?

Twisted trunks of storm saveged trees stay

Will they rot or bloom in the spring?

Storm torn roots removed, mulched

Nothing left to bend in the breeze.

Clouds dapple sunlight like shredded ice

Breaking into prisms of eternal shades

As a northern wind swoops down 

like a gang of eagles getting a fish

Fetching from rippled waters ashore 

Winter hardships in hibernating forests

The trend of the century is a-brew

A year must pass making way for the new

Empires of nature's landscapes recycle

Rewind my mind on a bicycle

Enduring shortened days of icicles

Oct. 31, 2024