You died on this day,
Twelve soft long Autumns ago.
I still miss you, Ma.

How the wind does rage
Swirling the leaves through the air,
Brown fluttering clouds.












Top of the tree:
Two leaf bunches resist wind,
The only ones left.












Bright red maple leaf
Wedged in bark of a tree,
Filed for the winter.

Woods are gentle brown;
Leaves and wind form the palette;
Sunlight paints the strokes.

In front of the fir,
Speckled leaves wait to be blown;
Fir's going nowhere.











Clouds cover the sun,
Road becomes dark and eerie.
My mood changes, too.

My foot kicks a twig;
It rolls noiselessly away,
Swollen by the rain.

Rustle of Dead Leaves

Rustle of dead leaves
As they collect all over,
Curling, brown and dry.










Feathered white fountains;
Thin wispy plants catch the sun
And transform themselves.

A gentle breeze blows;
So gentle that I could miss it;
But the leaves notice.









A patch of sunlight
In the darkness of the woods,
Like a fairy cove.














Floating gently down,
Large streaked yellow leaves descend,
And glide noiselessly.

Through many seasons,
Tree monster has held the rock.
It just won't let go.










Dry, gray Queen Anne's Lace
As it might look in a book
Pressed between pages.

The woods near my house
Are dark and mysterious
And they're so tiny.

Barn doors in sunlight
Are much darker than at night.
They yawn into day.









Pine needles in sun
Shine together with the leaves
Caught in their embrace.

Last of the lilacs
Suspended, drained of color;
Way beyond their time.









A hush, descending
Covers the road and woods;
Then, a woodpecker.

From top of the hill
The road twists down to the bend
As it always does.












Pickup truck glides by--
Even cars are soft today,
Moving through silence.

There's no sun break now
Just a gentle emergence,
And a soft retreat.

Almost Skeletons

Morning after rain;
Leaves are soggy, road shiny;
Tree tops are misty.

Mist is everywhere;
Chickens chat in the bushes;
Insects plague my face.









Forest on a stump;
Many shades of green lichen
Suck life from dead wood.

Hollow sounds echo;
Barking dogs, twig fall, plane roar;
Distant car coming.

A time for mushrooms;
White hemisphere descends, then
Springs up on the lawn

Shaggy white pillars
Arise near base of the tree;
Not there yesterday.

Almost skeletons,
Tree branches reach for the sky,
Embracing winter.









Things green are greener:
Moss on rock, ferns, leaves and grass;
Colored by moisture.

The Sky Has Fallen

Cool, crisp breath of leaves;
Sun is muted by the clouds;
Still, soft shadows fall.

Unseen geese honking
Fly steady behind the clouds
In one direction.












Driveway is all leaves;
Cannot see a piece of pavement
The sky has fallen.

Garbage truck whisks by
Daisy asters wave it through,
Bowing and bending.









Laurie, her mom, two dogs:
Pilgrimage on Yerry Hill.
We pass with fond words.

Orange peel and cones
Fit in the Autumn decor;
Halloween colors.

Dragon in window
Stares off into empty space,
In the empty house.











Sun plays in the woods,
Dancing on tree trunks, dead leaves;
Then it goes away.

Playing Tag With the Rain Clouds

Sun is out again,
Playing tag with the rain clouds--
In and out it goes.

Field is speckled white;
Not snow on October first:
Asters, Queen Anne's Lace.

Now the clouds have won;
All shadows have disappeared.
Dog keeps on barking.

Behind the mail box
White puffs peek out on long stems,
To be delivered.

In the muted woods:
Dead tree, a skeleton;
Its limbs stretched nowhere.









My friend Samvid stops;
We chat briefly as always,
Just touching the heart.


A field of mushrooms
Grows at the base of the tree--
Poof, today; tomorrow?

Old white house is still;
There's nobody inside it;
It's barely breathing.