It always
surprises me
how many
don’t realize
that rosehips
come from roses
as petals
fall away
and the fruit
left behind
swells large
to be harvested
for tea
Harvest come
and harvests go
and the clouds
roll in
to promise us
rain
as the reaping
of fields
continues
acre by acre
until soon
all will be barren
except the sky
Rails wander
to the east
promising
adventure
that the
clouds
sweeping north
counter
with a promise
of magic
and at
the crossroads
I stand
in indecision