Canada comes,
Cooling the Blue Ridge leaf by leaf,
Bronze, copper, and scarlet flame
While the morning moon burns white in blue.
Umber splotches rosy dogwood,
And birds snatch at candy-berry clusters.
My face upturns to catch the sun’s glow
Through lidded eyes.
The wind stirs twigs and branches,
Brushing leaves back and forth,
And a dry rain falls,
Golden.
Early frost pales the trees and
Thins chirping, buzzing, whirring
Call-and-response night song.
I mourn the rasping choir.
I look for the farmer’s geese,
Snowy flecks in a browning field.
But he has sold them,
And the pasture gate swings, half-open.
Lovely, Catherine, and especially appreciated as I am pining for autumn’s splendor since moving to Florida last month.
Sigh with envy… wish I had yourr words.