Wednesday, October 08, 2014
CHANGES
Yellow leaves flutter and fall
As the morning sun casts light and shadow
Across the the littered lawn.
This autumn feels like late summer,
With wasps sleepily hovering outside the window
While cicada, crickets, and other insect hallmarks
Of another summer's end
Are noticeably absent.
One maple's leaves have all turned gold,
While another's is sprinkled with
Lightly turning red and orange
Only on the tips of outer branches,
Leaving those leaves closer to trunk
A green older and darker
Than the delicate bright green of spring.
Soon the trees will be naked silhouettes,
Grey crooked tapered latticed skeletons
Of what once were rich, full, and vibrant
The wind both gentle and wild
Finally tears the leaves from their anchors.
But all those whom I've loved and lost
Will miss the spectacle nature displays
Ever different, ever the same each year.
The trees unfold from bud to light, bright colors in spring,
Stay steadfast among windblown storms and sun's scorch in summer,
Then create a flame-out riotous festival in fall,
Only to die out and be blown away
Their tired, weak buffeted shells shivering grey
In the iced frosty blizzards of winter.
How long will they survive to see rebirth, growth,
Brilliance, then passing away, over and again?
The universal cycle of life and death
From which none escape.
~Virginia H. Conard
@September 27, 2014
As the morning sun casts light and shadow
Across the the littered lawn.
This autumn feels like late summer,
With wasps sleepily hovering outside the window
While cicada, crickets, and other insect hallmarks
Of another summer's end
Are noticeably absent.
One maple's leaves have all turned gold,
While another's is sprinkled with
Lightly turning red and orange
Only on the tips of outer branches,
Leaving those leaves closer to trunk
A green older and darker
Than the delicate bright green of spring.
Soon the trees will be naked silhouettes,
Grey crooked tapered latticed skeletons
Of what once were rich, full, and vibrant
The wind both gentle and wild
Finally tears the leaves from their anchors.
But all those whom I've loved and lost
Will miss the spectacle nature displays
Ever different, ever the same each year.
The trees unfold from bud to light, bright colors in spring,
Stay steadfast among windblown storms and sun's scorch in summer,
Then create a flame-out riotous festival in fall,
Only to die out and be blown away
Their tired, weak buffeted shells shivering grey
In the iced frosty blizzards of winter.
How long will they survive to see rebirth, growth,
Brilliance, then passing away, over and again?
The universal cycle of life and death
From which none escape.
~Virginia H. Conard
@September 27, 2014
