EARLY SNOW

The snow came early this year:

On a day when clouds and fog

Filled the canyon, obscuring

The last gold of the cottonwoods,

And the odor of wet dirt

Clouded the senses.

Small flocks of robins

Perched on trees like ripened fruit,

And waited for some memory

To send them south,

But when the mist lifted

Gray and black juncos

Had replaced them,

Each one remembering snow

For the first time,

Knowing something never seen before.

Summer is gone

Fall has passed;

Soon the sunlight

Will not reach the canyon floor

Before noon.

The nights last longer

Than the days.

The last leaves float down

The clear shallow creek.