BY ELIZABETH SOUTHWOOD
A pples, ripe, jicama-crisp, are the sunlit green of waves.
U nder the honey locust trees are spread moon-yellow leaves,
T hatchy, crackly as the empty birds' nests under the eaves.
U pon sparse grass in adobe earth, raked papery leaves
M ake golden piles, dug into compost like shredded corn sheaves,
N amastes from the baring trees to autumn's chilly breeze.