First Frost

First Frost

Last night an anticyclone

sidled off the sea and squatted

over Europe,

made the sky arch

clear and brittle.

Through hours of darkness

gangs of starry gods

sucked up the dregs

of summer warmth

and scattered silver winter-seed

across the fields, on clod and blade,

until a sluggish sun arose

to claim the day.

Now in the early morning light

a wasp clings to the wall

outside my kitchen window

feelers flattened to its head,

wings folded low.

Caught by the gods

it bowed before their bitter breath

to wait for death.

But death was slow,

too slow last night and now

the sun swings lowly round.

The wasp's wings shiver in the growing warmth.

It shakes its head from side to side

as if it can't believe it lives,

preens feelers, flexes joints, then

flick!

it's gone into the autumn air

for one more day of feasting

on the fallen fruit.