Fall: My dog, who has been outside, returns now to the house, her fur cold.

Harvesting tomatoes at the organic farm: elbow-deep in vines.

Morning in the neighborhood: A woman cuts her lawn using scissors.

Far and near: sky blue as topaz; trumpetvine blooms orange as persimmons.

In the dark, I pluck spent blooms from the trumpetvine then look at the stars.

Abandoned lot: hydrocodone, hairnet, a single saltine cracker.

The boy smashes a grasshopper then makes its legs dance on the sidewalk.

Even among these crickets, I long for the company of crickets.

The fields have been harvested: Rectangles of baled hay dot the cleared land.

Outside the liquor store in Umatilla:

A man tucks bottles in his backpack, takes off on his electric bike.