The haunt of autumn seems so close to home that whisky ghosts of dying summer breeze now tickle heat and steal away with cold and, playful, bear their laughter through the trees. – It seems a world more sharper than the light opens up amid the falling leaves— a sound like crunch! And snapping crunkled […]Read more "Autumn Wind"
O earth—friend—how nice you look today— your soft, pink blankets spread across the sky, inviting with the gentle touch of dawn. Your brown and rusted leaves you flag-like fly, a kindred spirit calling me to stay. Do you know how much I want to stay? My whole heart withers as I step away— […]Read more "Restless"
It flits like wind: the many plated fall that haunts the hollow echoes of the trees. It sits in gloom, the ever-darkened hall of piney bowers bending in the breeze. – And far away, approaching on the air, the mountain smoke-streams: hard, and sharp as spite. Severest winter— soon to come and tear aside the […]Read more "Autumn’s Oracle"
Changing winds tousling trees, leaves that jump and run the streets, pumkins and spice and football and Keats, blazing sun–90 degrees.Read more "October"
Black crow sitting on the ghost branch caws, white horse running up the hill. Half-baked pumpkin in the window sill, old brown buggy in the stalls. – Corn silk spotted in the sun’s last gleam, Wolf dog lying on the floor. Rusty shovel by the screened in door grey paint dying like a dream. – […]Read more "Autumn Equinox"
The golden leaves have fallen now— cracked and brown and dying, swirling in the autumn air that slips around me, sighing. All that’s left of a youthful dream, conceived in winter’s wait and born beneath the sun’s warm gaze when all the trees create. So soft—the pink and white unfolding— blossoms on the trees that […]Read more "The Golden Leaves"
On aged and crispy pages of September, She loves to write her name with sweet finesse, In long and swirling script around the trees; Unseen, but not unfelt, just as the breeze That forms the flutt’ring train of Autumn’s dress– An auburn trail, enchanting to remember.Read more "Autumn"
The night was dark, the air was chill, the moon half shrouded in a cloud; and sitting silent on the hill the pumpkins almost laughed aloud – For farmer Brown (who closed the gate) had gotten focused on a star, and as he gazed in ‘raptured state, had left the wooden door ajar. – Chuckling […]Read more "The March of the Autumn Pumpkins"