Song For Autumn
In the deep fall
don't you imagine the leaves think how
it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and
freshets of wind? And don't you think
themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think
of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
bodies? And don't you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be
on its way.
We've started the countdown to T-Day. Turkeys are defrosting, shopping is done, beds are all made and waiting for company to arrive, and the kitchen is ready for a day of baking.
Happy Thanksgiving, Friends.