Dame Cottonwood shakes the jewels from her hair,
spreading a golden carpet across the gardens,
nudging the mums into exuberant starry song.
A single Goldfinch flits from branch to twig,
stitching a counterpoint to the floating lift
and fall of Monarchs waltzing on the wind.
Beyond the tree row, the hay field is filled with
tiny white butterflies that dip and rise,
busily gathering every drip and sip of nectar
from this year's final show of blossoms.
These signs and more serve to shake us from
our summer-lulled stupor and fatigue,
like the ringing of tiny brass bells, urging:
Look! Open your eyes! See this!