Friday, September 16, 2016

Autumn








leaf by leaf
the hardwoods
let go of summer

















cooler days;
autumn
deepens the river









the moon’s gray,
the meadow’s frost –
same shade











wild geese –
Father’s silhouette
at the pier’s end











 
a scrubbed sky –
geese depart
the roughened lake



















the autumn maples;
Mother’s
rouged cheeks













autumn fullness –
my cataracts
ripening











where I’ve been
in the frosty meadow –
a trail of green












the elk’s bellow;
dusk thickens
along the river
















a red oak leaf
on my shoulder
the shape of a hand








  






the dusk deepens –
cowbirds
raid the wild persimmon











on field stubble,
gliding –
the shadows of geese











cornhusking –
the old woman’s
crooked teeth









harvest moon –
the wind going about
plucking leaf from limb





















 
setting sun –
a daub of my shadow
on the silo wall



















shotgun on my shoulder;
walking at sunset,
the tire ruts home
















graveside rain –
our grief
soaked a deeper hue


















from a topmost branch, 
how slowly!
an oak leaf skims and tumbles














early autumn –
swans double-cross
the glossy lake
















cold rain –
the crow abandons
a dead squirrel
























cold rain –
the river carries
the woods into winter










autumn’s end –
the scarecrow
emaciated












another birthday
under the same
October moon












ice crystals 
in leaves on the rake,
this November morning













deep autumn –
lights from the house
across the ravine


























autumn sky -
a skein of ducks leave
an unbroken silence













abandoned by geese
heading south –
my autumn birthday












end of autumn –
huddled closer,
the neighboring houses























light snow –
headlights weaving
through an autumn wood


















autumn evening –
the silence
of ripe pears


























green gives way –
half yellow now,
the red oaks

















returning from the fields –
our shadows stretch
across the narrow lane


  



  





abandoned garden –
a scarecrow    
pummeled by autumn hail




















autumn woods –
the smell
of last night’s rain












end of autumn  –
the scarecrow loans his hat
to the snowman















late September –
a harvest moon
dapples the oak-lined lane











sounds of autumn –
the afternoon practice
of the marching band

















leaves color;
turn the sky 
a deeper blue













brisk day;
ducks on the pond
look cold








a gauge of autumn -

the leaves
in my hammock











autumn bluster –
winds push
the trees around


















early autumn –
an orange butterfly
goes about its business













cold rain;
the river carries
the woods into winter















chilly day –
dead leaves gather
in the birdbath













on the patio,
the last warm day;
a sparrow joins me for lunch













withered roadside brush -
a stop sign wavers
in the stiff wind














once a year in its full glory –
the red barn
among the hardwoods










on the shadowy barn,
falling –
leaf shadows  












a windless day –
here and there, a leaf
yields to autumn














cold winds;  
dead leaves shiver
in the hardwoods





 










overgrown garden –
an autumn butterfly  
floats along the pales












luckily, I know it well –
the path 
among the autumn hardwoods













leaves have fallen,
revealing more
of the moon  
















corn harvested;
bee hives visible 
at the field’s edge










a day of harvest;
walking home -
our emaciated shadows















a night of rain –
the sparrow’s morning
ablutions 

















cold sunrise –
crows flap sovereignly
through the bare woods











harbor sunset –
geese leave;
the sound of the wind

















autumn woods -   
following the path
that follows the river











everywhere   
above the meadow –
the Milky Way











same shades of red –
sunset,    
the turning maples 











end of autumn –
huddled closer,   
the neighboring houses











day-long rain;
I organize   
my watercolors











grandpa’s fiddle –
to and fro,   
the blue tick’s tail











toting it home with me –
the mountain
solitude    











end of autumn –   
through the hard rain,
a glimpse of the river











cold morning –
ducks    
stir the river mist











a quiet breakfast;
an autumn sun   
lifting through the hardwoods












autumn ending;
the overhead geese
press onward   











mild day –   
a leaf shadow tumbles
down the drawn shade











rainy day –   
inside the window,
a bottle fly’s buzz











fall morning –  
ahead of my skiff,
ducks take wing











boarded-up theatre –
letters missing    
from the marquee











cold day –
the last of the leaves
translucent   











fall day –  
drizzle in the bare trees
gathers into drops











end of autumn –
across the field,   
approaching rain












end of autumn –
where the leaves hung,

blue sky    











morning drizzle –
chimney smoke 
fills the holler   












end of autumn –  
coming down hard,
a curtain of rain











light rain at dawn;
a cock’s   
insistent cry











leaves have fallen –
blue mountains  
stretch eastward












its splendor portends
a bare austerity –
the hardwood grove











leaves of a lone oak
scintillating
in the brisk wind











   
autumn morning;
the passing geese
leave not a trace












autumn rain
washes the chalk
from the sidewalks  















geese have flown –
wind-patterns
on the lake










rain lets up –
reflections in the lake
become clear again











rain lets up –
a mist drifts in
from across the pond












autumn morning –
mist blurs
the lake’s reflections




sunset;   
along the footpath,
pines darken

a light rain; 
prodded homeward
by the grumbling sky

spying it as I pass –
the moon
in a street puddle

windy day;
the first flurry
of leaves  

cool morning; 
a spider on its web
sways in the wind

it’s clear tonight –
the underlit moon
a sphere, not a disc

a morning thunderstorm
rousting the old house
from sleep  

morning walk;
cobwebs made opaque
by the dew   

the dirt farmer’s
only bit of flair –
a red bandana  

the spider hanging in its web
doesn’t care
the world is upside down

gusty winds;
the grass field
a sea of green  

quiet, the boys  
on the back steps,
chewing sugarcane  

mild day; 
straight down,
the leaves tumble

morning walk;
tree trunks
divvy up the sunlight

autumn; 
the ducks leave only 
wind-patterns on the lake

first light;
a spider  
mends its net

soft silver
through the pine boughs –
an autumn moon

unknotting
the hammock ropes;
the scent of burnt leaves

early autumn;
the yellowing 
of the white oaks

after the storm;  
a warbler singing
from a broken limb

early autumn;  
my neighbor’s house
appearing in the hardwoods

he looks abashed –
the scarecrow
without his hat

cool night;  
geese cross
the moon’s face

hardwood grove;
fog mutes 
the autumn colors

scudding clouds; 
her polished casket
in and out of shadow

brisk day;
the crunch of my boots
in the autumn grove

autumn geese;
how could they have ever
flown away? 

clear water,  
a creek bed
of bright leaves

autumn sunset;
a blur of orange
behind the trees

cold dusk;
ducks honking
in the holler

cold twilight;
a moon in the treetops
follows me home

deep autumn; 
flashes of river
through the hardwoods

soft light
of dusk; 
we speak in whispers

in the east
thicket, 
a laurelled moon

salt marsh rain;
the ochre reeds
a shade darker   

forest hike; 
silver-green,
the dewy pines 

cold morning;
clouds veil
the blue mountains

quiet night; 
a quarter moon
climbing a peach tree

almost missed it –
a mere
slip of a moon 

to the east, 
a mauve sky;
the smell of rain

cold morning;
clang  
of the feed buckets

evening walk; 
the benediction
of the tall, tall trees

bitter chill;
the valley 
a bowl of fog

brisk day;  
colored leaves 
spangle the hedgerow

gray dawn; 
spooking a deer
near the north gate

among yellow leaves,
the bright red cap
of a woodpecker 

colder days; 
winds pluck bare
the hardwoods

autumn sunset;
scarlet   
mellows into gold

morning fog;
the world ends
this side of the river

thickening gloom;
voices float
across the shorn field

in the treetops
lingering,
remains of the day

cold day; 
leaves collect
in the wellspring

clear evenings;
the moon
getting fatter

hardwood grove –
yellowing hickories;
the scarlet oaks 

bright sunlight
turning the sparrow’s gray 
to silver

fogbound;
the quiet 
of the wet woods

north winds;
a daylong
tumble of leaves

the scarlet oak’s coloring –
pale green 
to chocolate brown

mounting higher,
the yellow moon
turns silver 

deep autumn; 
across the holler,
a lighted window

a rushing stream;
the footpath leads
to a fallen tree

autumn woods;
each leaf, in turn,
whispers Geronimo

rising  
from the cityscape,
a silver moon

across the lane,
shadows  
spidery as the trees

escorting me
upriver – 
the prow of a moon

morning walk; 
a light rain dampens
my hat and shoulders

clear night; 
the flare of a moon
in the autumn limbs

leaves have fallen
exposing 
the mountain’s shape

autumn’s end;
the tangle of hardwoods
in a gray sky  

loneliness;  
the trail of a raindrop
down the pane

windy night;  
a crescent moon
snagged in tree branch

a soaking rain
has blackened 
the pine trunks

more of a sunset now,
through
the bare woods

beads of rain 
like ornaments
scattered in the cedar

distant headlights
weaving
through a bare woods

through the hardwoods,
shards  

of a moon 



























 







































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