Fall Poems

    Here are two poems I wrote last Fall on two sequential mornings. 

Trees are turning, geese call,

heralding winter, this is Fall.

Cool air, bird's sound,

cricket's chirp, wet ground.

Gurgling trickle, soft grass,

moving water, squirrels pass.

Pent-up storm, looming trees,

tense yet frantic, gentle breeze.

Colder now, squawk and flutter,

air-born chase, wind mutters.

Whispering distance, gray sky,

silence warns, birds fly.

------------------------

Today--not like yesterday!

Still cold, I grant

But the birds, they chant,

"The sun will be warm, it shines bright!"

The deck was glazed with droplets,

I slipped across.

A tiny piece of water in this world

'twould soon be lost.

The grass is soft

and glassy with silver beads.

My bare feet slip by in fine, liquid mists

through the gentle reeds.

Then, back! The birds, they sing!

My feet take wing--

dance across cold stone

on toes alone.

Then, I smile behind.

Half foot-marks I find:

They lack their heels.

Silent laughter peels.