The mountains draw their shawls of clouds
‘bout their shoulders to ward off the damp chill,
humming as if about to settle down
into rocking chairs before a fire
and knitting away this afternoon of winter
as they chat about the doings
of their children, grandchildren,
and their neighbors to the west.
Perhaps, this is why--
the birds flit and chirp
singing songs of spring
as they nibble at the suet cakes
you’ve left for them.
At the edges of this cool morning, humming with the dying of summer, I, long awake, attend to things that must be done: dogs fed; trash pulled to the curb; a load of laundry started; hummingbird feeders cleaned; all ordinary, mundane things— This chill in the air has me wish I’d put on a jacket, yet the chill will be gone by noon. And I find I smile. For the first time, I do not despair at the dying of this year’s summer, but find a joyous warmth in the light as this year’s autumn is born.
Caught in the evening downpour, I am washed clean of summer. Summer’s red rock, red dirt dreams Sluiced from me with this autumnal drenching. Morning greets me with a cool hand Of sunshine upon my brow. Autumn whispers of a harvest Under skies of bluest topaz. A clear, clean, honest reaping In days yet to be had.
Into fall’s hands
Dreams of summer scatter
Chilled to death.
Fall strides to winter,
Claiming death of all living
Dreams rolled inward— green.
Winter sulks away
Spring green rising from within
Our winter hearts.
Spring arouses summer
Dreams awaken from a soul,
Heated imaginings.
Into fall’s hands
Summer leaps with all her dreams,
Scattered leaves to air.
summer hot, humid
kills desire of sweetness
flowers forgiveness
falls decaying death
forgiveness dead leaves lifeless
blacken a gift heart
winter freezing ice
a cold weapon forgiveness
to cut the giver
spring new life begins
forgiveness lifeless, no seed
to plant, grow—never
The bird of flame rises
From the ashes in my chest—
Ash of forgiveness
Never given.
undone in spectacle
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