In this November canyon,
twisted ribbons
of dripping pavement
bind dislocated cypress,
cinch a fog-circled grove.

Fiery Christmas berries
nestle like tiny eggs
in their evergreen nests.
We climb a broken trail.
Maples ignite
the splayed fingers
of yellowing elms.

A bluejay
grabs passing limbs,
shakes a burning leaf loose,
starts a whispery avalanche
which uncovers
skeletal wood.

We slide downhill
past trampled scotch broom,
manzanita, brittle rattlesnake grass,
through damp chutes
of rotting limbs,
browning Sequoias,
stacks of rusty toothed combs.