purple asters

purple asters defy the fog’s first-light assault on an october meadow.

rank on rank they stand, the rear guard, purple and blue and magenta, surrounded by the browned, the broken, the fallen. they are the last challenge to the shortening days.

but they were brighter yesterday. straighter. even they will sue for terms, knowing what the offer will be.

they will accept and retire from the field, grateful that the grapeshot of an early freeze did not flatten their fighting retreat before it began.

the goldenrods have gone white. old parishioners in pews, awaiting the call, prepared to submit. southbound sparrows pick at the meager offerings.

in the melting frost of a mown field, milkweed seeds lie scattered.

they look like the wreckage of the last sortie of the moths.

or, like an homage to the first flakes of snow. the large ones. the vanguard of the victorious invader, formed into companies for protection against the still-hostile atmosphere.

they parachute down, dotting the mown grass, preparing the ground for what is to come.

   - O Ceallaigh

Copyright © 2006 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.

All opinions are mine as a private citizen.