Monday, October 05, 2015


It isn’t just the cold
nor the dearth of cricket song
nor the waning green

there’s a palpable feel to the quality of air
a lightening, a crisping
as autumn starches and irons

In the absence of birdsong
the crow and the goose play their voices
like bass instruments

rending the silence
stirring the water, rustling the woods—

the days unfold on wings and raucousness


Out on the prairie said...

Very nice, there is beauty all around, but i do miss all my birds.

Marc Leavitt said...


Welcome back. Your poem makes autumn real; a "season of mists, and mellow fruitfulness."

Molly Bon said...

Lovely to see you and your crisp Autumn poem!

Barb said...

I read your words and see scenes of fall - the cadence of your poem is also crisp. Lovely!

Wisewebwoman said...

Lovely, you capture the season so beautifully.