I witnessed a small phenomenon today
something floating in the sky.
It was somehow fluttering
and gracefully falling.
A huge highway lined on both sides
by a thin strip of brown.
The chicory, mustards, the sweet clovers,
and those damned yellow composites,
brought to end by the mower blade
and left to bake in the sun.
Solidago in a
bloom of yellow love
speaks of late September.
Puffy clouds dot the azure sky,
corn abounds, but not yet harvested,
singing along to Bob Seger on the radio.
The scene is set so that you may appreciate,
my glory and delight,
when I saw that strange sight,
half a cornstalk sheath,
hovering,
then slowly descending,
behind the bridge.
