Three consecutive, angry, late Autumn
Frosts ate their way up the towering kudzu blanket
Thrown over the tall trees along the road up to
Ravaging the thick leaves like millions of ravenous moths
Feasting at a buffet of deep green cloth.
Though tattered, browning and unraveling,
The weekend's sun mended the blanket somehow
And the trees were still not trees.
Monday dragged in a weeks worth of cold, hard rain.
By Friday the blanket was threadbare but still
Clinging to the trees. Saturday's biting wind finally
Pulled the blanket down.
The trees were trees again.
Giddy to see the sky. Relieved
The long summer of peeking through small
Holes for sun and air, and catching
Odd stares from passing cars and walkers
Is over. Just happy to be seen for what they are again
And not gaudy kudzu towers, dragons, gaping ghosts, or
In my case, my father's stern, pointed face.