In the last week of summer
the Widow Wyile plucks deep blues
into bowls white or yellow
from bushes tall and vines entangled
with brambles and overrunning young trees
in her barely restrained wilderness
the yellowing pears
begin to drop to the ground
and every now and again
with the beginnings of regularity
an individual leaf twirls down
from on high 

In the past month
large spiders and small
have spun formidable webs
linking everything together
or so it seems
opposing sides of doorframes
rearview mirrors to windows
plants and buildings
trees and grasses
their filaments glisten with dew
and shimmer in sunlight
like momentary glimpses
of tenuous paths to other dimensions 

The picking and processing of fruit
is a pensive spiral
winding back and forth
through the seasons
every berry and grape
a rich blue miracle
every pear a portent
of life and nourishment 

Amid the zing of seasonal transition
the heat of the sun now a pleasure
in the cooling air
every new bloom
a measured delight
the blueing of late berries
and grapes a blessing
the trees already
tinged with it
change is palpable
in every sense