B Lee Nolan Orchids The lilies in the garden are brown, leaning against rusty mums newly bloomed. I cut the dead from my garden; the chilly morning leaves my fingers numb. A ringing phone needs answered. A fair weather friend is cold on her tropical vacation. She's flying home today, she needs the warmth that escapes me now. I planned my weekend, before the phone rang. I sorta miss her loud mouth but there is no want of her hot air; hidden agenda I sense. Lawn is disappearing under a layer of Cinnamon leaves, sweat dampens my back as I rack them. I'm looking forward to seeing a hardy mum, that grew from tending and watering. It lay there all summer,  waiting to bloom. I'll change for dinner, my appetite swelled. Forgetting my late afternoon maybe. There is a precious flower on my doorstep; an orchid named Anne. Despite being left unattended most of the summer, she stands there on my doorstep looking as if she came from the finest nursery. Bright and full; her smile warms the autumn air. It's going to rain, you may need your umbrella She always knows what I need. A misty rain begins to fall. Somewhere a tropical storm named Ophelia eats alone. round II, poem 7, 16 September 2005