November Nights

by Ruth Latta
Ontario, Canada

I lie in the dark
and count the crows
on the fawn-coloured field
and picture a
dark stand of spruce with a surprise of yellow
and a Tom Thomson red maple mirrored in a lake,
and wish we were back there again.

Green hill bordered by geranium maples,
fat roan cow with big nursing calf,
spiral of wood smoke -
night after night, itís crazy.

Redleafed ivy cascades
over a page wire fence.
Evergreens thrive in a handful of soil
in the crevice of a rock face.
Log cabin peeps out from the pines.
We two inside.
Can you feel me?

Memory trembles like golden aspens,
vanishes like parallel jet streams blending with clouds.
Imagination, memory always fall short.
Swallows soar in celestial ballet
before heading south,
and leaves swirl in a transient dance.


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