Four Days Away
A small time gone to see the first snow
on the gold hills near the mountain.
A return to tomato plants turning black,
the hosta succumbed to a frost.
The cedar loosed its fall flags
in the west wind and turned the deck
to gold wonder of a forest floor.
Four days under a record rain
and first thing we carried inside,
that heavy temple bell, a gong
too noisy for gusts that attack
our coming winter nights.