autumn color Gibbs Gardens Ballground GA randomstoryteller chamrickwriter

Blue Ridge Autumn

Poem excerpt from Blue Ridge Autumn by chamrickwriter randomstoryteller with image of Japanese Gardens at Gibbs Gardens

Last weekend, as fall slipped away, I paused. Where had the color gone? Everyday noise, as well as high winds and heavy rains in late October and early November, had blinded me to the season’s leaf watch. I revisited a poem posted two years ago: “Fall Leavings.” The title seemed to skimp on the details of the passing days, so I renamed it, thankful for the beauty just outside my door—if I choose to see it.

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 leaves,

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.

Early frost pales the trees and

thins chirping, buzzing, whirring

call-and-response night song.

I mourn the rasping choir

and look for the farmer’s geese,

snowy flecks in a browning field.

But he has sold them,

and the pasture gate swings, half-open.


  1. John Cronin

    The poem’s imagery comes to life with the wintery day here in Wilmington. And I have been seeing the early morning, soon-setting full moon. In the cold from frosty nights. Thank you for your picture

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