Dear Autumn,

Driving over the mountain from Asheville, I saw yellow leaves... but then again what did I really see? A leaking ceiling. A droop-horse turned on her back, legs folded like a rabbit. I didn't see her long before a green sheet replaced her flee-bitten coat. Dear Autumn, dear colder still, dear dead pony. I tried to write a play once. The joints didnt even fold nicely, but squeaked like a metal gate. Some horse stalls are lined with shredded paper. Dear one long month, dear November, dear second fiddle to December. Dear colic, dear infirm, dear feeble, dear deaf, dear fate. I tried to tell my mother, about the mare and the play. I don't know what she heard, but she stood and sighed: lemme get your winter pansies.