Gail Sosinsky
2nd Place

Taking the byroads -
Maple flares between pines,
Flames amid darkness.

“Beautiful,” you say.

Popular and birch –
drops of gold.
The scarlet of sumac,
already dropping.

“Your father said this was God’s garden.
No human could plant this.”

We crest a whee hill.
The road elbows to new vistas.

“Something beautiful around every corner.”

You point to the tree
with gradients of green, yellow, flame.

“In Copper Harbor, the trees meet
over the road. With sunlight,
it’s a tunnel of gold.”

Highway 8 does Bob Ross proud,
orange, peach, pink,
trees like flowers
and mums in the yard.

Driving away,
stage four HER2 positive on the left,
triple negative on the right,
we arrive at a dive
for Friday’s breaking of fish.

Waiting in the car for the four o’clock open,
we watch wind play
the riotous color above,
observe the old, dead tree,
stark and hovering as a Halloween monster.

“Beautiful,” you say.
“Those black branches
really make it stand out.”