Passing Through Tippapah

Streaks of gray on black

passing clouds paint the sky

Ghost like

I move through a landscape

of muted color

Yellow harvest moon

slides under a distant horizon

while sun

yet sleeps

Desert heat

gives way to

first tendrils of winter

The land eases its way

through Autumn's

repose

Daylight assumes cast

of morning's luminescence

All Hallows Eve

approaches

the air turns

crisp and cold

-Fin-

DS Baker