Tag Archives: Autumn
Green leaves shush each other,
in the gossip and the celebration
that will take place;
sometimes in loud applause
with the forceful incoming
The sun and the moon are complicit;
getting ready for the seasons fall
—In pageantry and bright colors
before winter candles are lit;
to read by and catch the glow
on the faces by the fireside
and smile with the rewards
of another year, gone by.
the leaves are laughing
giddy all spring and summer
sleep gently tonight
My houseplants have been on the porch all summer.
The moon, white as vanilla, sends an evening chill
announcing a late October frost.
They must be carried inside, some hung
from my kitchen’s skylight windows.
Picking them up and carrying them through the porch, we welcomed each other.
As I open the storm door, I thought I heard a tiny critter voice chatter;
barely heard, but definitely noticed on the right side from my good ear,
inviting me to look closely at the plants. But, I chose
to quickly put them down on the porch floor.
I was a little concerned about my state of mind.
A worry, I must admit, since I was born.
Peering cautiously through the leaves of the one plant on the right side,
I spied a silver spider web laced between stems and leaves.
On closer inspection, I saw two critters with long skinny legs;
one in the center of the web and the other, on its furthest edge.
In the center, standing on six of his eight legs,
with one hand on his hip and another extended towards me,
I believe, to introduce himself with a hand or whatever I was supposed to shake.
Without hesitation, he began to speak, quite clearly, in my one good ear.
“Hey! Big Guy!
Bigger of biggest fellows!
I apologize for my intrusion your glorious immensity.
Speaking for the half of which I represent;
This of course, includes only me, for the other half has not yet agreed.
I am asking for your support in avoiding the outside tonight
and perhaps throughout the next two seasons.
For me, big guy, you show wisdom, compassion and a good taste in women.
I plead for you to save us, me and the little lady, where we could be killed
or die freezing outside. We are the third generation that has shared
this house and we do wish to continue to abide.
Love the light! Love the dark! Love what you have done inside.”
Startled as he spoke I felt dumbfounded,
out of breath, without words in the bellows.
“Hey you! Snap out of it! Hey! Big Guy! Bigger of biggest fellows!
I have just heard from the other half. The Mrs. has also agreed to plead
quietly to you. Asking for the joy to watch the early seasons go by…
weaving harmlessly among the leaves”.
Aghast, with natural concern, I pushed the plant away from my face.
I picked them up, still a little suspicious of the others,
I hurriedly brought them all inside, two at a time.
I made a pot a coffee; setting a cup in a saucer with a spoon,
sugar, and next to them, a carton of cream.
In the dimming light of late autumn
I placed the spider plant on the kitchen table.
Facing the shiny silver web, we started talking away
with spinning yarns and silver threads of family and friends;
all of whom have lived here. Reminiscing, laughing, I, drinking fresh coffee
and they, drinking from teacups, with warm evenings dew.
(We spoke about our parents, grandparents,
children, and all the visiting inhabitants.
Some I never knew existed and some apparently they ate.
I have yet to meet the others that are staying here;
evidently, they have cousins from the fiddleheads estate,
having arrive earlier, deciding to winter in the cellar downstairs.)
Leaves are dancing in rhythm with the wind.
Frost embraces its partner —holding Fall within.
Colorful chaos prances through woods and on soil.
I kick dust-up behind me —before it settles cold.
I go forward alone, remembering an old friend,
humming those ole “dirt road blues” again.
I taste food at dusk
I eat my meal in the light
by shadow of moon
Blue mussels cling rocks
Tide and moon are true lovers
Boiling for supper
Blue skies parting leaves
Green grass below aging feet
Balance beneath me
Blue birds sang in spring
Announcing flower trumpets
Shook summer to rise
Morning Glory blue
Summer’s last call before fall
Welcomes winter frost
In late autumn, in-between the mountains, a sinking sun
glows bright orange. Silhouetted on ridges above the valleys —
pines, leafless maples, stark bare oak trees.
I notice a single leaf wobbling
on a low birch branch near me.
I presumed, waiting on the winter wind
for her invitation to an early frost
and a late autumn’s— evening’s fling—
encircling wooden posts with rusting wire fences
for a dance floor, dancing my first winter waltz
with the chill wind, red cheeks blushing warm—
–Snow glistening across the meadow
Pushed through the White Mountains—
Enjoying delightful winter flakes on my tongue.
Kicking snow into white clouds announcing
my next boot’s intention
— lest’ I slip.
Twirling in traditional steps of solid granite stature.
Dipping, stomping, sliding, gabbing a handful of snow
kissed, licked, and eaten cold.
we would play and dance to a robust measure of silent music;
then, with symphonic pause –time for another last thought—
I would be pushed home
whistled in snowflake crescendo,
pulling up my collar,
and tightening my wool hat
towards drifting wood stove smoke
and supper on the kitchen table
with a cup of hot chocolate that was perfectly warm.
Thoughts – as I watched,
late autumn sun setting on
my New Hampshire home.
I went inside with an arm full of wood.
Smiling at the leaf’s anticipation
For her first fling— as mine was
in a late autumn childhood.