lovely fury.

I felt frigid chills as she drew

My eyes to the angst-ridden scene.

The air was not cold, but the warmth

Had escaped this chaotic mess.

Unkempt undergrowth dashed by the entangled

Branches of poor-postured trees.

In greenless grey, this bleak wilderness

Whispered the approaching bitterness

Of winter.

Had we come a few days sooner

There would have been vibrance

And delight in fall’s rich texture.

But she sensed a beauty that begged us to linger.

It was the grim desolation that pleads another garment -

This one of white so white no bleach could compete.

And we knelt to the grace that

Brought order to our disarray.