As sunlight sifts through foliage of green & red & gold,
It salt & peppers my eyelids, it makes my step more bold.
Twigs snap, leafs crunch, beneath my booted feet,
Like apples dropped from a laden bough,
This day’s as crisp and sweet.
A honking, sonorous and wild. draws my eyes suddenly skyward. I lift my hand to shade the red sun, and watch the “V” of Canada geese recede. The pond looks deserted. No turning of the “V” and raucous splash-down tonight. The sunset colors of harvest pumpkin & squash turn twilight-gray. For the first time I note that the leaves still about are all brown. Nevertheless, my feet are drawn toward the water’s edge. There, shining, long and tapered, shone the gift of a forgotten feather. My fancy found it fit for the penning of some bye-gone poet’s praises.
I turn up my collar, roll down my sleeves, and continue my stroll, despite the chill. Pensive, I stroke and twirl my whimsical quill, and as twilight darkens, head for the warmth of my home. A word, then a phrase takes form in my head; ideas begin to take shape. This first wintry evening I am not ungrateful. Each passing season leaves its’ own peculiar gift.
The Black Hills
Sleepy-eyed sun sinks
Behind hills suddenly dark;
Like a shade pulled down.