AUTUMN
By Joan Mitchell
The rusty leaves crunch and crackle,
Blue haze hangs from the dimmed sky,
The fields are matted with sun-tanned stalks —
Wind rushes by.
The last red berries hang from the thorn-tree,
The last red leaves fall to the ground.
Bleakness, through the trees and bushes,
Comes without sound.
A FALL SONG
By Mary Oliver
Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,
the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back
from the particular island
of this summer, this New, that is now nowhere
except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle
of unbelievable mysteries – roots and sealed seeds
and the wandering of water. This
I try to remember when time’s measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn
flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay – how everything lives, shifting
from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.
NOVEMBER
By David Budbill
Where do you enter a circle?
When there is no beginning, Where do you break in?
Say November, Here. Enter through the emptiness.
Sere gray. Sere brown. The bare trees.
their skinny fingers darkened by the rain, stretch
against the sky. The earth is dank and chill
As an old deserted cellar. Barren. Without song.
The sky is empty, the birds are gone.
Everything is waiting in the rain.
Five o’clock; almost dark. Chimney smoke lies down,
Crawls across the meadow like a slow soft snake.
And he, just come from the woods, stands watching.
The cold fog is silver on his woolen shirt.
Bank on bank of clouds, like the folds of a shroud,
layer over the mountains.
The sky steals light from both ends of the day.
This is the day the lead sky comes down.
Say good-bye to the the ground. In the morning: white
It will snow all night tonight.
To view previous Keith Olson’s previous fall photos and accompanying poems – click here
Cannot leave this post without sharing my true identity of being a genuine certified SNOWFLAKE. Therefore, Paul Olson, your serene capture of all of the elements I cherish are in sharp FOCUS….Shady Grove covered in the white stillness that is being carefully guarded by an aptly named SPIRIT!!! Who could possibly envision a better balance of nature and Man’s Best Friend??? Spirit….even though my name is Keith, I do claim to being female so I feel sure you would grant me equal rights to becoming a faithful member of your fan club!!! You are indeed the SPIRIT (PUP-ULAR) we all enjoy!!!