Saturday, November 9, 2013

Saturday commute xciii: after the frost, sunlight

  There are so many leaves
  to fall that you almost
  wonder how it can happen
  without your hearing it.
  But one does, in early
  sunrise after a frost,
  hear them falling one by
  one, pirouetting in des-
  cent en pointe upon one's
  cap beneath their canopy,
  finally specific, an en-
  tire corps revealed one
  by golden one; and one
  sees the light transfig-
  ured into following, fur-
  ling sheaths of sudden
  adulation, a lifelong
  season's shade dispersed
  in single, whole moments. 


  1. I see no attribution, so I might assume that this is your own composition? Lovely.

    1. Kind of you to say. It was a pretty morning and my dog is still discovering a Fall. He helps.

    2. Oh, I do comprehend; les chiens are always so helpful in steering and enlivening one's contemplation.

    3. And perception, and delight, and indebtedness to light; and all of this, with their witty gift for camouflage. Possibly you know how they do it. I do not, and I thank you for reminding me.