After a summer of rare, drenching rains, tumbleweeds took over the Valley. Dislodged by September winds,
the skeletal clumps huddled along our dirt roads, skittered across stones, bounced hopelessly
in the wake of speeding vehicles. They ventured out of the rural areas and
ended up in town, always in the most inappropriate places. One afternoon I
passed a pickup truck driving down the highway with a weed stuck in its grille like a jaunty brown corsage. Another thistle-ball, at least two feet in diameter, blocked
State Street across from our favorite coffee shop, mocking that small attempt at civilization.
Uprooted flocks raced
across the plains when the wind kicked up, their passage blocked by barbed wire fences. They clung to the wire with grim desperation until
a November blizzard released their grip.
softening under snow
the harsh entanglements
of autumn
of autumn
