Notice Served Low sky, gray beneath gray, thin dim sun loitering behind without noticeable intent; aging summer drags beat-up sandals at autumn’s order to pack up its things and move on to the next hemisphere – but clouds above and bluster below, orange leaves eddying in gutters and entryways, foreshadow the inevitable: a fall of highs and lows, woodsmoke perfuming dawns and dusks, frost’s hungry fingers tracing windowpanes, cupping cheeks.
About the Author: Steve Brisendine – writer, poet, occasional artist, recovering journalist – lives and works in Mission, Kansas. His most recent collections are Salt Holds No Secret But This (Spartan Press, 2022) and To Dance with Cassiopeia and Die (Alien Buddha Press, 2022), a “collaboration” with his former pen name of Stephen Clay Dearborn. His work has appeared in Modern Haiku, Flint Hills Review, Connecticut River Review and other journals and anthologies. He holds no degrees, several longstanding grudges and any number of strong opinions. Write to him at steve.brisendine@live.com.
Image Credit: Andor Dobai Szekely “A Summer Landscape” (1910) Public domain image courtesy of Artvee
As It Ought To Be 