in september
when the beanfields turn brilliant yellow
dazzling the eyes under bright blue skies
and cooler air revives
it’s all a ruse
look. all around, soldiers of amber, burnt orange, and rusty red
station themselves
readying for death’s annual march southward to the sea
beware atlanta
sherman is on the move
the fields will soon be leveled
and life turned fallow
gone with the northern wind
cat at arm's length 