In October
when the neighbors' trees
flame to russet
it remains green.
We always wonder
if it will stay this way,
its leaves carrying
last spring
like a song that left.
The trees in other yards
flaunt all shades
of autumn,
then toss in the wind,
losing each last bright streak.
Third week in November:
and they've flown.
But suddenly
when we've almost given up
the holdout tree
starts to melt from
green
to soft butter
opens blanket yellow
as clouds stall
then
Every year
right around Thanksgiving
when the low autumn sun hits,
it fires to unceasing
and uncompromising
yellow gold.
keeping well
into December.
its own
uncanny
but welcome
late harvest.
It never fails
to astound
and we always feel guilty
at exactly the same time
as if our doubt
could have stopped it
from glowing.
