Autumn Transitions

Instant of silence;
Even the cars don't whoosh by.
Where do the sounds go?

The light softly dims
As the clouds cover the sun--
Daily curtain call.

 

 Olivia sits--
Her son is now hamburger.
(Something isn't right.)

City folks have left;
Now the cars wave back at me.
I reclaim my road.

Dry leaves on the road;
Others float down from the trees.
Autumn transitions.

Rain begins to fall:
A soft cool caressing mist.
Then the sun breaks through.

Other side of the fence--
Cornucopia for goats.
So near and so far.

 

 New red coat of paint;
Old barn looks freshly made up;
Set to face winter.

 

Chained in their Passion

 

Clouds play with the sun;
One second it's sunny bright;
The next second gray.

Always the leaves shake;
Even winter has breezes.
Now, the sun has gone.

 Crows in the gray sky
Call their invisible cries
As rain gets ready.

A bough of leaves
Hangs over the rotting stump,
Lightly pressing down.

Does wind or water
Ripple through the dark woods?
The sounds are mingling.

She's on the wrong side.
Don't these city people know
How to walk on roads?

The Christmas mailbox,
Now framed by creeping ivy
And large rotting leaves.

Two white butterflies
Flittering with each other;
Chained in their passion.

Shadows Play on Memories

 

Farm house through the trees;
Shadows play on memories;
Breeze rustles the leaves.

 

 Morning light is green,
Tinged with a dash of yellow
In this Fall palette.

 

They're next to my house:
Giant ferns billowing out.
(I've never seen them.)



 

 

 Chicory shadow
Falls flat and black on the road,
Drained of all its blue.

Held fast by the vines,
Dead tree limb is suspended
Against the wire fence.

Dead leaves in fir tree;
Brown caught in the ever green;
Arrested descent.

Hand in hand they go,
Entangled in each other;
Murmuring hello's.

 

 

It's been a long time
Since Ghost has seen me visit.
He comes and then goes.

Murmur of a Breeze

 

It's Labor Day weekend;
Cars race by to catch a whiff
Of relaxation.

 

Leaves tremble lightly,
Blur for a second in light,
Then freeze in sunlight.

A dull gray box sits
High in the crotch of the tree
Humming out pictures.

Two goats are sitting;
Their heads sticking through the fence.
(Can they pull them back?)

Murmur of a breeze
Among the leaves in the woods
Wakens memories.

Bottom of the pole,
A lonely "2"  has fallen
Or just lost its way.

About to flower?
Queen Anne's Lace is in a fist
Of birth or of death.

Two empty chairs sit
In back of the wild garden.
Absence of humans.

Held Soft By the Grass

 

Mist plays with the sun;
Irish call it a "soft day."
The tree light agrees.

 

 Light patches on the lawn;
A temporary sun quilt,
Held soft by the grass.

 

My unkempt garden,
Taken over by wild plants--
Without any names.

 

Wooden cage on wheels,
Standing next to the old barn.
(Who will it carry?)

 

 The forest stream runs
Under concealing green boughs;
Silent--shimmering.

Such tiny flowers
Seem gargantuan up close;
Gulliver's viewpoint.

Nurtured by horse shit
Mushroom colonies spring up.
Forget ancestry!

As the heat bears down
Small convertible passes
Blessing its own breeze.