Tired yawn and stretch
from a dandelion.
Shade tucked canyon's creek,
a constant lullaby.
Squirrels groggy
atop their mounds of treasure.
Feather buried beaks
await the morning cue.
Crimson and gold maple flags
hang-glide into the dew.
On this autumn morn, the sun slept in.
~Kristi Miles (September 2005)