season of helicopters

Farming, I watch the seasons
the golden light of evening
comes earlier each day

The song of the white throats
marks the beat to spring
the flutter of monarchs
touches early fall

I see when the first mulberries ripen
and when the last maple leaf falls

now it is the season of the helicopters
they buzz overhead with threatening insistency
like some plague of locusts

I am ready for this season to pass
for the helicopters' hum to be overtaken
yet again
by the dragonflies