Autumn

 

 

 

 



 

 I  remember, as a child, shuffling through piles of coloured leaves. I hear them crinkle and rustle. And then we made piles of leaves while raking them. And I suppose we might have jumped in them. As an adult, I still love that sound when I'm walking in the fall.

Already in mid-September this year, leaves are turning colour. The tree across our street is almost completely turned. Most of its leaves are red.

What I was thinking of when I wrote this poem was the quiet way the season changes, a bit at a time.

 

 

Autumn weaves itself into summer nights

ushers in cool air

the first chance it gets

 

It changes greens to splendid reds and yellows

nips roses still in bud

steals kisses from the sun

whispers to migrating birds

tells squirrels to fill

their homes with food

 

Autumn slips in so quietly that

it’s hard to tell

just when summer ends

and the season of splendour begins

 

 This poem has also been published by Tower Poetry. Update coming.


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