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
Very nice, there is beauty all around, but i do miss all my birds.
ReplyDeletePauline:
ReplyDeleteWelcome back. Your poem makes autumn real; a "season of mists, and mellow fruitfulness."
Lovely to see you and your crisp Autumn poem!
ReplyDeleteI read your words and see scenes of fall - the cadence of your poem is also crisp. Lovely!
ReplyDeleteLovely, you capture the season so beautifully.
ReplyDeleteXO
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