Fall's Promise

There’s a field of soybeans in the middle of the park where we walk.  The plants are yellowed and brown, with the seeds still attached.  In the middle of the field, there’s a patch of bright green grass where the soybeans refused to take hold.  The wind whips up and rustles the plants and their dried bones rattle in response.  Along the perimeter of the field, the wild plants are allowed to grow: goldenrod and pokeberry, its fruit bright purple and black.  I see white snakeroot and dense blazing star and green foxtail.

Tiny snakes cross our path; winding their bodies this way and that across the asphalt path, while wooly bears cross in a slower, steadier march.  A monarch butterfly rests upon a sprig of heath aster.  A white moth flits here then there, pausing only an instant at a plant before continuing on its way.

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