December in Sonoma (Poem)

The maples are in full flame,

Here in Sonoma,

Driving to and through

Wine country

Is both daunting and awe-inspiring


If you have ever cursed the rain,

You must never have seen

Cloudlets shrouding firs of deepest green

Rising behind a flaming yellow,

No, orange, or red, or all three

In a cacophony of color

Set off by the gray, early in the day.


Words swirl through my humbled mind

As nature, once again,

Brings me to my knees.