I heard the geese gathering yesterday morning.  I heard a crow caw as morning fog lifted.  Fall is not a favorite of mine.  It reminds me of leavings.  I try to make the best of it.  I fill the house with spices;  breads baking, cinnamon swirling, pickling, grapes sweating in the steamer for juices and jellies.  I put away my summer clothes and bring out my Fall clothes.  My colors change.  I start to bring in my art studio to overtake my office area.  It feels like there has been no summer with the smokey skies since June 15 when the White Rock Lake fire started.  This morning, the heavy fog crouches in the hollows of the palms of little valleys and dirty covers of smoke lies on their backs.  There is no lonelier sounds than Fall.

Frenzy Of Fall

lick and click
gurgle and chortle
chuckle of tickle
of steady stream’s travel
down through gold palms
clapping them on

dry stick knock
clock tick of season
grieving leaving
of summer’s friend

drag of stag to butt of rut
scurry of squirrel in nuts hoard
turn of grass to strawy bed
mole in his mountain curls up to sleep

sweatered sway on hard bank
longing’s gesture
in blink of lash frosted
by gasp of gone

*written 2008

 

©Carol Desjarlais 8.30.21