November

Wind whips
the tips of trees
as the leaves
leap and swirl
dive and whirl
Scarlet corners brown and curl.
Grey sheets of rainĀ batter the door
as fire crackles, safe from storm–warm
blackened wood smells of home,
yet even so,
my heart would roam.

Image result for fall storm

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Vibrance

Color swirls,
hurled into the wild world,
whirls through the trees
on an unseen breeze
The leaves
dipping, diving, ducking, dancing
In their death the most vibrant,
a glorious adornment,
assortment
Like red-golden-green glowing snowflakes
that whisper as they fall,
They call
to the wanderers
whisper of wild adventures
awaiting
as the clouds block the sun
and the trees bend to wind
they stir their song again,
a siren in the highlands,
calling the defiant, the migrant in me.

Autumn Storm Along Rio Grande River

The Traveler – A Fall Poem

Most people wouldn’t notice him
Or it.
But he noticed
and therefore
did I.

It–swirling, spinning,
dipping, ducking, dancing–
it fluttered to the earth:
A paper-thin, delicate, dried-out thing
its curling corners
browning with age.

So was he!
Intricately wrinkled,
but in the best of ways.
You could see the smile lines
crinkling at the corners of his eyes–
those eyes!
Crystal and alive,
sharp and twinkling,
daringly saying,
“I may be old,
but I’m not dead yet!”
I wondered at those eyes.

Limber, he stooped,
and picked up the leaf–
careful not to let it crumble
as he shielded it from the breeze that had spurred
its flight to earth–
and stuck it in his hat.
It was jaunty and precarious.

Then off he strode,
that wrinkled traveler–
whistling!
And I remained,
swinging in the trees
(who were whispering)
and I not realizing
what it was I’d seen.

fall 6