on a gauzy october breeze
tire swing sways
rubber-garbed 
guillotine ballet

sliver of moon perforates 
moldy gray clouds

curl of smoke streams
from brick-broken stack
though the old house
remains dark, shadowless

amber-red lights recede: 
a waning 747

amid rural dereliction
hoot owl punctures 
the hushed
reclusive night

gusty squalls spiral
north, then northwest

a chill intrusion, 
the mesmerizing 
yowl & snap
a frigid perpetuity

Julie Allyn Johnson, a sawyer’s daughter from the American Midwest, loves walks in the woods, gravel-travel, photography, poetry and hiking in the Rocky Mountains.  Her current obsession is tackling the rough and tumble sport of quilting.  Her poetry appears in various journals including The Briar Cliff Review and Phantom Kangaroo.