Friday, September 19, 2014

A Fingernail Moon, Many Goose Kind of Morning


The driveway cottonwood sings his death song and dances his last dance. Hear him rushing and rustling, all urgent in the chilly wind. He bears cold truth on singing shoulders and renders unto autumn what it earns.



Oh, there are tomatoes grinning gold and red all on the ground. And beans blushing and squashes swelling.



And a thousand blazing blackbirds sit, creaking, in the honey locust.

But don't misremember cottonwood song. He sings of things impending.


On hot summer thunderstorm days he sings of fear of lightning.

And beats a racing leafy counterpoint to the rumbling and the flashing.

Like the heartbeat of the weather.

Watch his top to gauge the wind, its speed, direction, 

The depth of its intent.

But now, alas, he is letting go of green and bringing on the long dark cold.



I will close my ears and listen only to the Carolina Wren. Bright soldier of good cheer, he is singing on the shady porch, lighting the air like a flying candle.

Slow down, old autumn, and linger warm and cozy. Keep as close as burdocks to your sister spring and bring her this way quickly....

Thank you, that is all.

***Listen and you can hear the geese in the background under the din of the assorted blackbirds


5 comments:

dennisranch.com said...

If I had to define the word "prose", this would be it... great job.. but so foreboding!

threecollie said...

Thanks, Robert! It is a beautiful season, but what is coming is not so cheerful

Rev. Paul said...

Beautiful pix, as always.

Our autumn colors are farther along than yours, for all that it hasn't been very cold yet. Not many leaves have fallen yet, but that's started too. I hope you have the short, mild winter that you crave.

Cathy said...

Oh Lordy. Through my virus-troubled runny eyes and demented brain and crusty nose . . . Oh Lordy.
I am so - not ready for the impending darkness and cold. But if you have to take a mental nose-dive and face the cotton wood's music . . . this post's words are the most captivating, longing, lovely way to make the descent. Amen. Pass the NyQuil. :)

threecollie said...

Rev. Paul, almost none here yet, except for the flowers and a few swamp maples. Hoping for a pretty season...the last few years have been pretty drab. And thanks

Cathy, poor you! Lot of sickness around so early. Thanks for your kind words. I am a fan of Nyquil as well....