The trees will soon be barren, all. It is that time of year -- the Fall. The understory never was, and can't now house the insect buzz. And, so, the woods stand silently -- nothing treads in peace, nor violently. It's empty; devoid of motion: life hides below, as in Oceans. It does feel like we're out to sea - a strange place where both sides are lee. And - so - we're stuck, we can't move on, but can see promise over yon.
yellow petals drop: on the lake: washed together; on the ground: spread out.
lake waves break ashore unpredictably, catching hapless strollers.
wistful autumn days: i look up to the blue sky from the tawny grass.
the fish drifts - barely: then, with a snap of its tail, it darts to the depths.
ripples on a pond:
the day seems still & windless,
but, somewhere, air moves.
a still dragonfly
looks perched & ready,
but then falls dead.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 