By: EarlB, 1:53 PM GMT on November 25, 2010
The less modest trees have slipped from their gowns,
the wraps lay where gravity tugged them from lithe limbs.
There is a faint hint of slightly used perfume coming
from the folds of color on the floor, drawing in the
cats, foxes, the deer even, all sniffing, nosing around
through the once worn folds.
It's Fall, as Autumn continues, Fall is now mostly past.
And, it's thanks-giving time, the year's plenty has mostly
passed, except for what's been stored, set aside for the
gray days ahead. It's a time to look back to the warmth
of Summer, the freshness of Spring, the cold of last
Winter, each one in it's turn prepared us for the next.
And now? What's in store for us now? Just like our summer-
filled pantries and woodsheds, we will depend on our freshly
stocked memories from this year's bounty of Spring and Summer
days to carry us through the grayness.
By: EarlB, 11:45 AM GMT on November 14, 2010
The fragrance of earth-dampened leaves,
Canada geese circling treetop high,
Stars at 6 am,
Milkweed seeds floating by,
Crystal ice fingers gripping blades of grass,
First wood smoke wisps in the air,
A Monet palette of tree colors.
Once damp leaves smoldering after a burn,
Geese dappling a pond in grey, black and white,
Stars at 6 pm,
Milkweed parachutes caught in grass, inches from home,
Blades of grass frost burnt, broken,
Leaves slipped to the ground, in paint puddles.
I'm half way between the heat and the cold,
Between summer and winter,
Between here and gone.