my mother says the sun
is always a prized guest
silken beams trailing
like roots, tickling,
lighting up treasures--
leaves fallen-golden
who in their turn lay
sunlight in my path
I can barely believe
how these hinged wings,
like words, are forgiving-
fervid, budding in mud
into a fullness of flood
this near sunset of leaves
blood-red, vital--and yet
leaving--so close to a fall
________________________
Pic: I got TWO walks in! One up to the Red Cedar by myself. And another with LB and TB to Baker Woods. I'll be stuck at meetings and appointments all day tomorrow, so I'm glad I got an extra one in today.
5 comments:
Lovely
Lovely poem and photo!
Nice.
Oh, yes. This time of year, especially here in NEO, the sun truly is a prized guest. What a perfect metaphor.
Thank you, friends! <3
Nance--we're mid Mich, so it's similar here.
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