Autumn–the leaves swirl and dance above cracked cobblestones; a scudding cloud of decay driven ever onward by the dying year’s final breath.
Autumn–a sharp and poignant tang invades the lungs, beckoning back distant, nearly forgotten memories of mulled cider and hot buttered bread.
Autumn–a creak and a croak, and the raven takes flight, his glossy feathers blue-black in the gleaming shaft of sunlight piercing the sullen clouds.
Autumn–snap, crackle, and crunch underfoot as I tread the leaf strewn walk. A long drawn breath, a pause at the lazy sweep of wings, and a single wish released.
Autumn–o to be a vagrant leaf, a scent on the breeze, or a mere feather on a raven’s wing.
I love the colors of the rain—
(you might think that odd
but I’ll try to explain…)
The glossy shine of broad black boles
The velvet emeralds of dark damp leaves
The murky depths of over spilling streams
And the rainbow wisps of fairy dreams.
The blues and grays of distant peaks
Forming ranks against the sky
Mist blurred, shrouded, silvery
Aloof, mysterious to the eye.
There’s violet too, amidst it all
In the heart of the shadows
In the deepness of the gray
Navy shimm’ring when the wind blows.
The spongy clay beneath my boots
Though mostly dark and dull
Has bolder streaks like maple leaves
With amber swirled and rolled.
Sometimes there is gold as well
Amid the colors of the rain
Through rifted clouds, when I glimpse…
the gleaming sun again.