Upon the wind steady the leaf riding upon its breath,
One of many exotic colors shadowing Autumn’s death.
So vibrant the ground leaves falling softly as a summer rain,
The trees of many colors bowing low only to rise again.
The crickets no longer chirp, their time has come and then gone,
Only fond memories remain of the music they shared at each home.
They gathered singing to each other sound from every direction,
Searching for the right mate, the one that will gain their affection.
Little ripples stir in the creek, leaves drop, moving as a ballerina in dance,
Riding the waves of the water, cold, clear, the waterfall taking their last chance.
Drowned. The water pounding furiously. No hope of being revived
But the waterfall. Oh, such a rare beauty. Taking yet giving many things life.
Ease the wind, timed just right, finally a rest. Time to breathe,
Relax. Harvest is complete, pumpkins from the patch. Time for relief.
Gather friends and families, the hard workers from the grounds,
Time to reap the rewards, aye. We are homeward bound.
Trout swim playfully the chill of the water serves them well,
They twist, and they twirl mesmerized by the baits wriggling spell.
Supper this night. Fresh trout over an open campfire,
Hushpuppies, slaw, fried taters the magic they inspire.
Soon a guitar strums low, and a harmonica mourns so sweet,
A tune is hummed the voice turns to song everyone catches the beat.
The last song of the bullfrogs blends with the rhythm of the night,
So beautiful the sound, nighttime treasure of pure delight.
A chill in the air as the pumpkins stare with different emotions,
Children carved them well. They gave each such devotion.
A glorious time-shared nature’s bounty, and winds wayward flight,
The woodstove. A small fire to ease the chill. I bid you, goodnight.
© Cynthia Clark