It is not the answer that enlightens,
but the question.

Eugene Ionesco, Décovertes

This morning I awake to coyotés hunting in pre-dawn dark.
Magnificent sound! Oso greets me when I head out to run later.
She’s happy and licks my knee. Then I begin and see two hawks -
one sitting high in a tree and the other circling -
as I turned the corner a covey of quail burst from brush.

Turning back toward “home”, though it’s late October,
birds and air speak of spring, the sun highlights western peaks,
clouds sky with color and texture you can’t imagine as real
and a hot air balloon rides currents over the Santa Cruz.
The hawks are gone. Oso is gone. I open the garden gate
and pick the last Bell Pepper, the last Chilé Negro,
the last of the string beans. The old corn stalks and leaves
were cleaned up last weekend. Now, there is nothing more
and I head for the house leaving the garden gate open.
This season ends. The wheel turns one more turn.

On the garden fence, squash blossoms.