A Fraud of Nature

It’s Friday the 13th
I count the raindrops falling from the roof
and brood over the harbingers of doom.
The pictures of pumpkins with smiley faces
call upon me
soon they will swallow the light to remind us
it’s the time of fall and the dead.
Gazing at the street sinking in bonfire hues
I notice a little plant
in a color of hope and rebirth
(halfway between cyan and green).
Small but strong
it makes its way through the crust
of brown sugar and cinnamon leaves.
Maybe it’s a blast of spring
lost in the fields of autumn?
Or maybe just a fraud of capricious nature?

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