Especially Umpqua

The season is slow to change
slowly turning down blankets
on its banks its rivers and creeks
rivulets and swales the ditches
especially the Umpqua's valleys
oaks their brown leaves brittle
holding branches not letting go

We're looking for the fox
at the same place we pass
each time after Metz Hill
meridian widening the size
of a small country all ferns
It's not there nor is a carcass
a relief soon forgotten again
in a trance driving there's fog
mist catching on the slopes

You are here with us we see
everything more that we did
more than usual this season
refusing to go to sleep it's
supposed to be at least 68
today and almost the same
tomorrow this time I'm lying
it will be cooler tomorrow