How I hate to hurry on my walk, especially this

morning, misted by the dreamy Charles, brushed

by autumn foliage and unruly grapevine, the art

of nature beholds me. I let myself be gathered

by what is rot and fresh and holy - I let myself be

stopped by this painter's palette fungi spilling over

from decay, then, returning home, a morning moon

flashes up instead of beaming down, a perfect wafer

like offering, a tender life pushed from fruiting soil.

All photos and words copyright Kelly DuMar, 2016