Sweet Iona Sleeps

The wind is rising;
Screen door slams softly in back;
Pine needles dancing. 

 

Rain is expected;
The blue gray sky is pregnant;
Pine trees are bowing.

 

Hollow,  the wind sound
Rolls like soft thunder through trees
From the deep forest.

Shivering yellow--
Small leaves quiver in the bush;
Awakened by wind.

There is a silence
When the wind takes a deep breath;
Then leaves float gently.

Fluttered in the sky
Like a thousand shadowed birds:
A legion of leaves.

Crisp the brushing sound
As I step through the dry leaves.
They are still--for now.




As the wind rises
And the gray sky gets ready,
Sweet Iona sleeps.

Of Former Flowers

 

They say it will storm;
That winds will blow down the trees;
Now the leaves are still.

 

Sky is bluish gray;
Dead leaves are swept from the lawn.
Everything's waiting.

 

Alfred scratches nose;
That's the function of the fence;
Creative bulling.

A giant dark leaf
Hanging against the pale sky?
Or abandoned nest?

 

Adventure on road;
Flurry of feet, arms and voices--
Kids pick up the mail.

 

 
Two balls on the lawn;
Shelf fungi on the tree trunk;
Each thing in its place.

Dead leaves dot the fir--
Brown amidst the evergreen;
Late Autumn's palette.

A dark dragonfly
Darts among the skeletons
Of former flowers.

 

Even on this Day

With a flash of light
And a soft whooshing of speed:
Cars go rushing by.

Other direction,
White pants pass quietly by:
Tall man walks the road.

Alfred munches hay;
Every day eats the same meal;
Doesn't seem to mind.

Easy to fool goat;
I just make a braying sound
And he stares at me.

Is it light flowing
Or is it sound and water?
Stream confuses me.

Clouds pull their curtain
And the road becomes dull gray.
Then shadows return.

With a faint skitter
Dry leaves blow across the road;
Others float to join.

Even on this day--
Soft fall day of floating leaves;
My mind can wander.

Close to the Mother

 

Saturday morning
Leaves are sparkling in the sun;
Brightness after rain.

Tall plant on the porch
Turns towards the kitchen window.
What about the sun?

On the top of leaves--
Water in the morning sun;
Will leave in seconds.

Silver Pampas wisps
Are now dry reddish brown husks.
Transit Gloria!

A liquid drum roll--
Stream pours over the driveway,
Heading for its bed.

Watery music
Flows down the rocky hillside;
Trills along the road.

Nestled in tree's crotch
Cluster of new born mushrooms
Close to the mother.

Irrevocable--
Moss creeps along the old roof,
Giving soft shingles.

Naked for Winter

Gray sky and brown leaves;
But, wait, the sun is breaking:
Autumn's swift dancing.

How sparse the trees are--
Brown leaves twinkle in the breeze;
Crisp leaves on the ground.

Dead leaves on the roof;
Dying leaves hover above;
Warm breeze up the road.

Rain of falling leaves
Softly stripping the trees bare--
Naked for winter.

Lying and waiting--
A pile of heat for winter;
A small wood mountain.

On this motorway
A horse has recently passed.
Take care where you step!

Fern is yellow beige;
Other fern is green as spring;
Leaves keep floating down.

Clouds briefly return
Making tree silhouettes stark.
(Fall's a reminder.)