A bite in mornings freshness,
a crisp edge in days adjourn.
Leaf and grass spin bright with gold,
a harvest moon arcs, round and fat.
I feel the seasons changing too.
The tick tock of day eager
for the cool, dark of night.
I feel, the sweet hint of slumber,
life turning inward, preparing for rest.
I hear, the swish-swoosh of leaves dropping,
spent toward earth,
The chitter-chat of squirrel
hoarding against hungry night.
I smell, the robust scent of time reclaiming verdant youth
with auburn arms and harvest breath.
I see, man,
spinning in discordant rhythm,
beset by cell phone, ipod, blackberry, tivo,
plagued by artificial light, alarm clock, calendar,
thought.
I wonder at all our busy, self important knowing,
contrasted against the soft ebb-flow of life.
I wonder, as the lilac leaves curl against the chill
and the last of the pumpkins turn orange on the vine.
I wonder as the wind swirls and dances,
carrying the salty smell of spice and sea and belonging.
I wonder.
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