Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Parting gift--autumn

Autumn has been teasing me for a few weeks now. One minute it's rainy and cold, thick with the kind of fog that chills you to the bone. The next minute, it's crisp and cool, the sun riotously crossing the sky. The leaves on the trees, too, seem undecided about what to wear each day. And so it is at the start of fall when you live in the northeast. I actually like the surprise of it--each day I get to dress for an entirely different season. Of course, this is bound to end soon...fall is truly around the next corner, with no more surprise summery days up her sleeve.

With that, I've had this poem on my mind lately. It's one I wrote years ago when I lived in Chicago, and these sorts of days were more common at the end of September...

Last Days

comes wafting in tonight
over the blue and yellow of
an Indian summer afternoon,
over the fumes of
the snaking rush hour.
And shadows creeping from under trees
and viaducts
swallow the last of September.

The sound of a lone cricket
tonight becomes an apparition 
of July.
Outside my eleven o'clock window
the static white noise 
of the rusting oak
pushes me into
dreams of you
over fields and seas.


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The Storialist said...

Yes, autumn is the time for wistfulness!

Lovely writing.

Irene Latham said...

"the rusting oak" -- love it! Autumn has yet to arrive here in the land of Dixie, so I am envious. My son did write an Autumn acrostic, though, so that's got me in the spirit of the season. Thanks for sharing your lovely poem!

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