Autumn is its own Spring,
Its own beginning
In the fractal browns of the conker,
The last crisp shade of the leaves.
The blue of October’s sky
Offers no false promises.
Only says: “Go today. Today are the gull
And its reflection one.
Today, golden branches bend,
The breeze speaks to the reeds,
Squirrels and chipmunks go gathering,
It is warm enough for shirtsleeves.
Today are blue, yellow, red butterflies,
Ducks bathing in ripples of light,
Late purple flowers…
Tomorrow I cannot speak for.
Take a coat,” advises the forget-me-not sky,
“Take umbrellas, socks, consider gloves.
The avenue is pleasantly dappled with shade today,
But something cold is breathing on my shoulder.”
October 3rd 2005