Fog drifted across the casting pond
as the sun drug itself up
over the shoulder of Mt. Hood
painting the sky a fiery pink.
Fall hung in the morning air
so thick it left its sweat
on windows and windshields.
The same wetness it would excrete on leaves
holding the cold morning air
and sucking the blue from their veins.
Leaving them to only hold
the yellow, red and orange hues
that spelled death for their kind.
While beautiful to most,
it was the end of the time
of living beauty for trees.
Now they would stand naked
to the cold for months
awaiting the warmth
and gentle color pallet of Spring.
6 comments:
What a lovely tribute to fall. I have a friend in Newbury and the sight of Mt. Hood is always breathtaking! Good AA meetings up there too :o)
An apposite poem - September song in words.
Great stuff.
There is utter beauty in fall foliage in preparation for winter. You have captured it in your poem where sometimes words fail.
Thank you.
Wow, I'm impressed MM! We are waiting for the height of color in Michigan, still have a couple of weeks to go. I was actually thinking of getting the coats out of the basement closet tomorrow, but that would be robbing something from the pleasant days we have left.
There is a sense of place and time, and time fugit...Lovely.
Your poem is lovely. I saw on another blog that you're from Oregon, and that prompted my visit--I live in Eugene.
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