I watch the autumn day delay its close,
as if its clock had stopped, wood shadows froze,
I feel the gusts of wind begin to calm,
and quiet to a whisper blowing balm.

The suns fat sleepy face an orange ball,
of friendship warming tears as they would fall,
as do the black elm leaves come snowing down,
and cold crows caw away November brown.

I sit and watch the red squirrel hopping by,
a woodpecker taps bark wrinkled and dry~
If I could only hold this scene in place,
a smile would remain permanent this face.

Sara Fielder © Nov 2021