Contributor: Judith C Evans

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Monsoon-soaked fallen leaves
Cling to the window screen and porch floor,
And perfume our last evening in the cabin by the creek.
In a farewell show, blue-gray clouds
Cast magenta shadows over red rock giants,
And lightning bleaches the twilight Arizona sky.

I shove our packed, half-open duffel bags
Against the living room wall, as if to prevent our leaving.
Two hours ago, we ate the remnants of our weekend groceries:
A half-eaten rotisserie chicken, bagged salad greens,
Whole wheat bread and mayo, and complementary herbal tea.

My love sleeps in the next room as I stay by the screen door
And listen to the quickening pace of raindrops on the porch.
A few clicks of my camera shutter preserve the wicker table and chairs,
Where his genuine smile brought tears to my eyes two days ago.

I want to pour the evening into an inkwell
And draw on this muse at will.

The September chill and rushing creek
Have revived us, refugees from the lingering south Texas summer.
We see ourselves anew
And speak vows that soften our hearts and sharpen our sight.

Tomorrow we’ll drive up to Flagstaff,
Where the altitude seizes our breath and slows our steps,
And the San Francisco Peaks take their turn
At courting our imaginations.


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Judith C Evans is a freelance writer, blogger and poet. She received a JD from Vermont Law School in 1992 and has been writing professionally since 2009. Born in New Hampshire, Evans now lives in Idaho with her husband.