A short and easy fall between
summer and winter, oak trees
heavy, woodpeckers overstocked
for cold, every crack and post
full, a left over crop drops
in circles beneath the trees.
Briefly disrupted, coveys of quail
return to bob upon ripe, black
mats crushed along the back roads.
Dark rafts of wild pigeons
rake the sky between the ridges,
deer fat and blue. It seems easy
to adapt to plenty, larders of pocket
gophers packed and planted
for spring, dry oak and manzanita
stacked beneath the eaves. Like hawks
sequestered to leaves when it rains,
we’re ready for almost anything.