Oh, I recognize this,
Coming, as it does,
in the rush of weather changes,
wind chimes frenzied,
tree tops all astir . . .

I don’t know if I’ve seen it before
but I’ve felt it,
The way those distant trees
(one layer behind the houses
across the street)
Were suddenly gold,
lit up at full attention,
limbs held in sudden
transfiguration
for a long moment in which
all I could do was watch . . .

One cottonwood took the chance
to dance copper and brass
instead of its usual silver,
Wildly, in full abandon,
until the glow was softly
lifted away.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 19, 2014