Autumn creeps into the Blue Ridge Mountains,
nature dips her paintbrush
into a bucket of gold
and highlights the walnut leaves.
The morning sun shimmies
through the tree-filtered light,
three white-tailed deer
forage in the cornfield.
On Brasstown Bald,
the buzzing of cicadas,
males shake their drums;
each makes its own song.
Golden rods sway on a breeze,
stars shine in dusty lilac asters;
beneath the Full Harvest Moon,
katydids saw their fiddles.
Brenda Kay Ledford
I give my sister, Barbara, credit for doing research on cicadas.
I wish my blogger friends a happy and beautiful fall!
Brenda
