Invasion

image from iambrose.deviantart.com 

Invasion

“You can almost hear the frost faeries moving in

--but first you hear the crackle of their wings.”

--Vera Nazarian,

My home is twenty short miles from the Cascades,

and in our valley, lulled by the last weak rays of

extended summer, we watch the snow level

easing down on the brawny shoulders of the

foothills. Mt. Rainier has already put on its winter

garb, thickened its glaciers, and covered all its

bareness.

My wife frantically picks her tomatoes. as the

blossoms wither and the stems droop. Tomorrow

morning it will be 38 degrees. The massive maple

next door is ablaze with autumn’s blush. We get

busy gathering boots, winter coats, covering outside

faucets, readying snow tires, and dusting off rusty

tire chains.

The nefarious frost faeries are gathering like clouds 

of icy mosquitos. We hear them buzzing at night,

like ravenous humming birds, approaching in dark

murderous murmurations from the east, coming 

ever closer, their chilled wings aflutter, their icy

fangs agape, their frozen gaze locked on us.

Great Maple stands so

ready to disrobe, needing

to shed its leaf skirt.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub--Haibun