An Autumn’s Rush

Dripping trees from an autumn rain

shake off summer leaves to cushion my path.

Some circle and drift, falling softly in my hair.

They, accompanying their colors,

bright orange, reds, and yellow-green,

crown me —with a passing season’s wreath.

 

 

A northern New Hampshire wind threads steadily through the pines.

I continue to exhale gray smoke from my cigarette.

With your memory, I slide through Franconia Notch a step above slow

—soaking wet, cigarette still lit, chasing a summer’s love

before my path and its pine scent, are covered by snow.

*****

*Originally written in Sept. 2014 with several edits since