The space between tree branches and The thing the moon told me

Two poems to mark the changing of the season

Today feels like the right time for a poetry drop. The changing of the season from Summer’s lush, leafy extravagance into the glorious flame of Fall is poetic.

My driveway is no longer made of bricks but walnuts. Cars that drive the lane set off a series of pops as the fallen green shells burst under tires.

In the mornings I walk to the sounds of birds s…