Cold trowels Crystal Lake an ice skim coat,
diffuses the last of autumn sunsets,
of the last of decade’s autumns.
Category Archives: Prose
Still Life with Salt Lamp
Salt lamp silent sentinel to November’s progression.
Leaves from long loyal living room plant pale in solidarity with goldenrod brethren.
New shoots encouraging search for larger vessel.
New place in which to dwell.
Shedding still.
Growing still.
Loyal still.
Autumn Vista
From the top of Elk Mountain, near gaudy reds and yellows pour through the neighborhood.
A community of larch splashes gold near neighbor pines.
Nearly all green not long ago, soon to be pine punctuated silver white, now, this.
September
Goldenrod prominents west yard hill in prosperous gold.
Sun and Saturn direct effect gorgeous illumination.
Drawn into unfamiliar abundance, trembling momentum radiates.
Sun Chokes
Yellow, yellow everywhere. Some yellow the shades of old paper left in sun, fading, reflecting nearing the end of an age.
Other yellow, Golden Rod, Sun Chokes just as brilliant and bright as the sun itself.
Pink Peony Progression
North side yard sports these peonies in progressive states of bloom.
Postured restful now having weathered recent rains, the eldest now nearly too heavy for itself.
Soon, a good dose of sun will raise and swell these blossoms before they, as peonies always do, finally abandon to gravity.
Mirrored Flora
Still morning, time of literal reflection,
considering self’s perception,
realizing world’s objects and reflections,
sometimes appear identical.
Horses in meadow
On the first clear day in several, on the way from car to back door, my glance was drawn through withered pear tree branches.
A familiar motion of far away lazy tail betrayed horses, apparitions, flashing brilliant white, deep in distant swollen green freshening meadow.
Habitually turning toward home, thinking not much of noticing the horses in their pasture, in a very few steps I realize it’s been many many years since horses pastured here.
Cold November
It’s not typical for cold to come so soon and stay.
Nor typical, so much wet for so long.
Surely Summer would have rained itself out by now.
Yet, through Autumn, threatening into Winter, wet.
Still nice to see familiar pastel Winter shades.
Even if sooner than expected.
Even if wetter than usual.
Breakfast Date
An early appointment the day of the storm had me awake closer to daybreak than usual.
As I walked across the living room, I noticed that the leaves of the houseplant, that “found it’s window” several years ago were trembling.
Even though they calmed to stillness when I stopped walking, I kept looking at the leaves.
I perceived that I saw them start to move again, growing, turning, yearning for pale dawn light.
Movement in the yard drew my eyes through the window, beyond the plant.
There, a sentinel doe draws attention from her young buck as they breakfast. His rack raw and white, velvet recently scraped, now ready for rut, ready for winter.