A waning moon wiles behind the treetops
down toward Rose Creek, settling time
before the world wakes up.
Days grow short, air crisps, winter looms.
Tall Queen Anne’s lace and purple ironweed
grace the field in this darkness.
Here in my divine time,
floundering for a thread of peace
to hold all day long,
I wonder and wait.
What will daylight expose?
Seeds of fortune fall by chance.
What will move into all the spaces
left by falling leaves
and the one who walked away?
Mary Ricketson is inspired by nature. Her poetry is published in Wild Good Poetry Review, Future Cycle Press, Journal of Kentucky Studies, Lights in the Mountains, Echoes Across the Blue Ridge, and her books, I Hear the River Call My Name and Hanging Dog Creek. She is a member of North Carolina Writers Network.