Trees make a tunnel, red and orange foliage, branches arched over roads. Headlights cut haze, that crawls across streets leaves give themselves to wind, dance and tumble in decay. This warmth reminds me of mid-May, when crocuses reach up like tiny fingers. I study the sky, the widening blue canvas pushing out gray. I want …
Facing Late Autumn
In light of the winding down of Summer—oh, the sad, sweet departure of blue skies and dazzling colors and wistful stray clouds dancing along the horizon and lazy afternoons at the swimming hole—and the coming of, dare I say it, Fall and, ultimately (arg!) Winter, I am re-posting this seasonal poem by the incomparable Brian …
Facing Late Autumn
The leaves lay like a wound, red and deep across the lawn, while what remains is frightened away by bursts of November wind. I look at concrete-gray clouds and sigh, knowing it is time to cover flower beds, yank out roots of annuals, their petals shriveled and frail, as fine as dust released to the …