Sunday brunch. A garden omelet that looks like Christmas morning. Dark Roast coffee. The slight touch of a rising September reminding me how much I love this coming season.
A Falling
What in me craves September?
The gentle waft of a coming fall?
The memories of my first season among
the Carolina trees?
The last time I saw you standing in
the shadows at dusk?
To this hour
the honey-gold of your jawline
blends into time
into my mind
into the whisper of this season
I love so fully.
The stretch of contrast
and limb
a greening going
across landscape
across years
across some internal span.
Your arms
even now at post
and stand
in breadth
in dearth
about me.
The sway and grace
of your legs,
the blue of your jean,
the brown of your shoe,
the tread of your steady step.
The memory of you stopping
to gather galax
which does not turn
as you did
to look back
at me
a coming.
for d, for that september
©Scupper, August 09, last hours
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Ashley Holt
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Comments
Rated.
And I love Autumn, too. It's 98 here today and I am fairly panting for an Autumn chill.
peece,
dj
Somehow it made me think of Eva Cassidy's "Autumn Leaves." If you haven't heard it:
It always touches me. As did this.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSXYu-3r1S8
If this doesn't work, I give up. Anyway, it's lovely.
Kisses,
Marcela
I couldn’t help but think of Dylan Thomas’s “Poem in October,” which I hope you’ll forgive me for posting in toto.
—Melissa
“Poem in October”
by Dylan Thomas
It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.
My birthday began with the water—
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In a rainy autumn
And walked abroad in shower of all my days
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.
A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.
Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
With its horns through mist and the castle
Brown as owls
But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
There could I marvel
My birthday
Away but the weather turned around.
It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
Streamed again a wonder of summer
With apples
Pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child’s
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables
Of sunlight
And the legends of the green chapels
And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
These were the woods the river and the sea
Where a boy
In the listening
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
And the mystery
Sang alive
Still in the water and singing birds.
And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
Joy of the long dead child sang burning
In the sun.
It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
O may my heart’s truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in a year’s turning.