Servants of the Wind

Now there are orange
Leaves that glow among the green
In the march of Fall.

 

 Full rich and bushy
Jungles of leaves surround me.
Winter is hiding.

 

Always in motion
Kids next door run, jump and fly--
School is in session.

 

 

Pale yellow, orange;
We called them butter and eggs,
Bloom by the roadside.

 

They keep on falling
Softly and so silently--
Dry leaves of Autumn.

 

 A warning for me:
Road side sign says "Loose Gravel".
My sandals beware!

 

They are still hanging,
Dead brown leaves, on thin tree limbs;
Servants of the wind.

 

 Growing by the road
A wooden musical staff,
Waiting for some notes.

 

Shadows or Sunlight

Shadows or sunlight?
Is the whole world topsy turvey
This magic Sunday?

 

Wind tickles the plant
Which shows its silent laughter.
Sun clings to the leaves.

 

Plethora of signs
Telling us all what to do--
Mute insistence.

 

Gliding through the sky
With apparent nonchalance,
The hawk is hunting.

 

In the road's shadow
The crow is pecking at something--
Black feasting on black.

 

 Even in decay
The delicate white puff balls
Retain their vibrance.

 

Climbing up the pole
Soft ivy hugs its partner--
Green embraces steel.

Up through centuries
Ancient boulder is dreaming
Its birth in the sea.

Metamorphosis

From my walks of September 17 and 18

Rhododendrons creep
Stealthily on my porch.
Just what do they want?

 

Mirrors everywhere--
In the house, on the windows--
Through the looking glass!

 

 

Dead leaves from last Fall
Still hanging from the thin branch?
Or is time confused?

 

Chicory limb bends
With the butterfly's landing,
And then bounces back.

 

Silent shadowed road;
Far in another country
Machines grind and growl.

 The ravaged tree trunk
Absorbs the morning sunshine
Through its many holes.

Lichen and green plants
Thrive on the rotting tree trunk:
Metamorphosis!

 

 

Into cool shadows;
Into the hot blinding sun;
It's just a few steps.

 

  

 Yellow leaf appears
Through the sun-glowing green leaves.
Soon there will be more.

 

Far in the forest
Tree trunks merge with the sunlight--
Shadows or substance?

 

 

A fellow walker
Doesn't even know I'm here.
(I'm OK with that.)

 

Pregnant milk weed pods
Swell in the morning dew;
Will release their seeds.

 

 

 Golden goldenrod
Basks in a patch of sunlight.
Lives up to its name.

A crow is shouting;
Nobody is answering.
Still he continues.

Every day it shrinks,
Leathery  lizard carcass,
Pulling to itself.

Today the woods sing,
High frequency and tuneless,
 But unrelenting.

I Stop and Listen

 Platters of sunlight
Served gently on my front lawn.
Green is everywhere.

 

 There's so much to do,
But the walk always comes first--
Life priorities!

 

Bright morning stillness;
Transformer's deafening hum;
All is relative.

Bright mist in the grass:
The careful spider has caught
Just the morning dew.

 Nestled in bushes,
True denizen of the woods:
The old wild mail box.

Its bark is peeling--
Tall dead tree is unmoving;
Gobbled by the wind.

When all that I hear
Is the sound of my sandals
I stop and listen.

 


Deftly suspended,
Defying all gravity--
Limb caught in its fall.

 

They'll Ripen and Drop

 

Inside reflection:
Kitchen light vies with the sun;
(An unequal match).

Where will my plant go?
It has grown so tall outside.
Too big for the house.

 

 



Silently jumping
Indiana leaps in shade;
Gleeful shouts follow.

 

What season is this
With its blue sky and warm sun?
Spring? Fall? or Summer?

 

A wayward shack sits
In the shadow of the house--
Its own mystery.

 

It's dry no longer
The ancient empty stream bed.
Has its new mirrors.

 

 

Grove of bloom-less plants,
Their seeds given to the wind;
Bare, without purpose.

 

Nobody eats them,
These hanging green wild apples.
They'll ripen and drop.