Autumnal Equinox – FF55

IMG_9515

Light and shadows dance
through the ages
flashing, winking, spinning

And now the time begins
when shadows enfold the light
when we turn
to darker thoughts
with shorter days
and colder nights
when blossoms are spent
and fruits have ripened

The growing season is over
prepare your garden
prepare your soul
winter is on the way

This is for Joy, who has resurrected FF55 at Verse Escape.  Go there and see what it’s all about.  (Photo is by me.)

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The Road Outside My Door

Today I drive fast
through the cold, overcast morning.
I’ve traveled this highway many times
know the blind curve
before Hansen’s driveway
and watch for draft horses
pulling the cultivator
as I approach Krueger’s.

Spring fields
are just beginning to show
a chartreuse sheen
but I have seen them palest yellow
burnished gold
lavish green
and a dozen shades from white to grey
beneath the snow,
or glistening deep, black in the rain
or so dry that dust clouds
follow tractors down the rows.
Dutch Crick runs parallel on the west
Some years it swells from spring rains
so the waters push up out of their banks
and over the fields
impatient to reach the valley’s end
like me.

Along the side of the road
I have seen dead deer, cats, coons
possums, fox, birds
and one live dog
who now makes his home with me.
Today turkey vultures gather,
like congress,
shoulder to shoulder
in a nearby field
greedy to get all they can,
like congress.

In January, bald eagles light
in the oak trees at the edge of the road
across from Sandman’s farm;
I’ve counted as many as seven.
Wild turkeys dot the side-hills in spring
too many to count
so we have hunting seasons for them.

There are mornings
when the ground fog nestles in the valley
and I drive up and out
into the dazzling sun of a different day.
In fall when the leaves turn
brown, yellow, orange
of oak, birch, maple
and I smell the wood smoke
rising from farmhouse chimneys
I count these days precious.

Coming home in the afternoons
waiting behind the school bus
I wave to the children
who wave to me
through the back window.
Butch drives the bus
haltingly
through the valley
depositing each child
at his rightful place
along the road.

At night warm light
from each farmhouse along the way
punctuates the dark
marks a home, a family, a circle of souls
that call to me;
yet, there have been winter nights
when the full moon
has shown so brightly on the snow
I have turned off my headlights
and driven through the valley
drawn out to 
solitude.

As I race down Highway 162
from between its lines
tucked and twisted through the hills
I recall the thousand faces
this road has shown me
through different times and seasons
and I slow down to look
for it will never be just this way again.

Solstice Psalm

cold

Photo by Mary Bach

Cold are the people,
Winter of life,
We tremble in shadows this cold endless night,
Frozen in the snow lie roses sleeping,
Flowers that will echo the sunrise,
Fire of hope is our only warmth,
Weary, its flame will be dying soon.

-by Daniel Kantor

 

Autumn Allegro

Red Leaf by Mary Bach

Autumn allegro,
perhaps that’s why
I love it so
coming as such a lovely death
flaming, raging, mellowing
then cooling, greying
decaying,
diminuendo

This is for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads where Margaret Bednar asked us to revisit an old writing prompt.  The one I chose is by Laurie Kolp, A Word with Laurie.  She asked us to write eight lines in one minute and include the word, “allegro” (which appropirately enough means “briskly” in music talk).

Changes

Today tastes just a little more
like fall.
Looking through the forest
there are spaces
between the leaves
that weren’t there a week ago.
It seems the bees are more insistent;
rose hips are on display
having grown heavy
and orange.
The day lilies have gone to seed,
rattling in a breeze
that hints at cooler, shorter days.
And here we are,
on the cusp of autumn
with winter in the wings.
Soon the trees
will reach their naked, grey arms
to a sky filled with geese,
and frost will spin
its silvery webs through the night.
Snows will fall,
light will fail,
the riot of life
will end.
Of course, after winter
there will always be another spring,
though it may not be our spring.

This is linked to dVerse Poets Pub open link night, though it started when Kanzen Sakura, one of the dVerse team members, asked us to write about changes.