The Fading Season

                            

                            The fading season —
                            when all the trees have darkened
                            but before the snow —
                            I build a fire in the grate
                            and find that unfinished book.

 

                                    The new morning chill
                                    draws me to the coffee pot.
                                    The fire still has warmth.
                                    Today’s sky is bright and clear,
                                    best spent walking the canyon.

 

                                            A fresh breeze picks up.
                                            Fallen leaves drift in the current
                                            like fishing boats
                                            heading out to fill their nets.
                                            They sail past the green heron.

 

                                                    The November night
                                                    dark and calm — not yet freezing.
                                                    The Leonids pass
                                                    flashing and fading in streaks
                                                    of yellow among the stars.

 

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Sunday, 22 July 2018

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Latest Comments

Stephen Evans Peace
06 July 2018
What find so remarkable about the experience is that it occurred on my porch - I didn't have to hike...
Rosy Cole Peace
05 July 2018
The late and much lamented Alan Rickman had this to say, and it does at least sketch an idea of the ...
Stephen Evans Oculus
03 July 2018
Could be
Ken Hartke Oculus
03 July 2018
"They return my gaze with timeless eye." -- If they had fancy uniforms they were the Carabinieri.
Stephen Evans Oculus
30 June 2018
The world is expert at demolishing pantheons, isn't it?

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