GOLDEN CHRISTMAS

In sand and cobbles,
nine-foot ties
on eight-foot centers
I thought would last forever—

160 pounds of oak
and greasy creosote
sunk 30 years ago
for 2 x 10 Doug Fir

have been abandoned.
Three centuries old,
the sycamore keeps
dropping limbs and shade

in forgotten pens
and waits for a storm
to strip its fiery leaves,
to dance without restraint.

Within dry clay hills,
shades of yellow linger—
certain that this year’s gift
of rain will be delivered.