cloudless skies; autumn crawls overland, swallowing green
the river dawdles; the colorful leaves stick firm & still
autumn bulrushes, top-heavy on stiff stalks, sway dizzily
rocky shore; autumn's dry grass & leafless twigs
leaf litter - amid shades of brown, a fleck of green
red leaves, lit by the late-day sun, flare orange
wet yellow leaves stuck to a rain-slick headstone, and i'm in a land not of tropical monsoons, but which knows autumn
sunlight shines low, half-hatching the forest floor with autumn shadows; i walk amid columns, listening for absent birds
still, if stiff, trees - the river ever gliding; which to mimic?
My memories of autumn are clearest —
the harvest time, when fields had turned amber,
with desiccated stalks – devoid of spirits.
And in the grain, we children would clamber,
’cause cleaning out wagons was time cherished.
Those short days are now brighter and grander.
It was an age of colossal machines,
and kernels of corn and tiny soybeans.