Morning Sunlight

                                                                     on the oak trees
                                                                     their dark trunks and leaves
                                                                 years ago risen over
                                                                     their own earthy horizon
                                                                 take the new day’s light
                                                                     and use it
                                                                 to make shadows

 

                                                               by Kathleen Hart  10/2013

Wild One

Oh, I know how tame I am
yet just for this little while
these few days in this patch of woods
I pretend there is something wild.

I pretend I can understand
the black crows when they caw

I am drawn like a moth to the flame
though the logs were cut with a saw

I like the roof and running water.
I’m not such a Nature’s Child.
But just for a while I humor myself.
Let me be just a little bit wild.

 

by Kathleen Hart 10/2013

October Surprise

I wait for the leaves to change colors and drop

though for no particular reason this October.

Two friends who shared my love of autumn

and its spectacular show no longer are here.

 

Sunny days will flood my cares away again,

though fall’s weather usually precludes these.

Fond memories of drives in the country mellow,

while company of others relieves aches, pains,

 

even those I don’t acknowledge, for a while.

Time heals all wounds, it is said, but how much

no one has ever quantified the dosage

or how medication is taken for various ills.

 

Then sight of a red leaf makes me smile, unexpectedly.

Brightness of color was reported unlikely.

Our dry summer had been said to preclude this.

Apparently Mother Nature didn’t read that story.

 

Rod Reeves  05 Oct  2013

 

Autumn Melody

   

 Indian Summer sings

in tones of red and gold

geese drum overhead

with a steady beat of wings

curled leaves tap cadence

as they roll along the path

humming bees seek

a last elusive sip

 

cawing crows discover

fallen bits of corn

finches chirp and sway

atop ripened heads of grain 

river waters gurgle

caressing exposed snags

rustling leaves whisper

of longer days before 

Indian Summer sings

of time and change and rest

until the song is silenced

by sleep and drifting snow

               

 by gesene oak October 2013