How quickly those brightest leaves scatter upon a later September road like wandering children/ As an ancient trek of Sunlight sets the winding way before me/ crickets softly spin> what oldest poem sings inside me again? What Faith here to mend? High & distant sounds of Crows follow a cold turn of Early Autumn wind [upward now], departing like new pallid ghosts into a blue prayer of Heaven. 9/20-21/2005 Selections From Light & Shadow— Winter 2004-Present Photograph with digital art 2013/2023