The peach I bought was mealy. Local plums
are past their prime, and golden nectarines
look better than they taste. The season comes
of evening chill and wafting wind that cleans
the air and scours faded leaves from trees.
It’s time to polish boots and change the nosh
from summer produce to varieties
of apple: first my favorite, McIntosh.

Mosquitoes I’ve avoided several weeks
are not a nuisance now; they left or died.
In place of dire buzz, a corvid speaks
six caws and flocks to where his fellows bide,
while spiders toss their architecture all
across the garden, celebrating fall.