Autumn is here
Trees are red tipped or golden.
Mornings are frosty.
And finally the cosmos,
three feet high green lace,
is budding.
A slow universe,
taking its time to unfold
summer pink blooms
on my porch.
Autumn is here,
but
better late
than
never.
Geese trying a new vocabulary
fly in W formation
I wonder
what will winter wind
waft or wallop webbed wonders
wandering west and south along waterways?
In half a V,
a line of five geese flies to the lake.
Moments later,
another half, line of eight
flies from the lake.
I’m waiting for the perfect V of twenty
or thirty birds, but times have changed
and half the flock
must choose to take the bus
these days, or perhaps, to walk.
The rain has stopped
Thunder in October?
The world has changed.
The wind blows off the dead,
flings pieces of forest in a mad dance
to burial & rebirth.
This melancholy restlessness
is your annual autumnal journeying urges,
your need for novelty and new scenery,
but your soul’s longing will not be resolved
at the auto auction.
Really.
The sky is dappled with gold
glistening spots carried in the breeze,
waltzing with the wind,
raining down upon me,
autumn leaves.
The ancient alchemists
would stand in awe
of forests transformed
into gold.
It’s quivering
twisting
trembling in anticipation
waiting in a
golden gown
to tumble
and dance
with the wind.
it was all hazy, and the sun was a huge silver orb hanging in mist. I should start carrying my camera again.
A golden leaf
spins toward blackness,
buffeted by traffic,
drifting your way
then my way
above
the high way.
Shawn L. Bird 