~
her face more weathered
than the softened lines of spring,
the supple skin that i’d remembered;
bright rouge cheeks now faded,
first to ocher, then to umber,
over-baked in summer’s noonday sun.
a gentle rain has washed her clean,
has rinsed the dusty air,
and lips once parched and taut
refilled with moisture;
now the coming brilliance,
golden orange in varied hue,
the sultry face of haze,
of summer’s afternoon.
she turns slowly with a misty gaze,
a taste of autumn's coming glory.
a gradual distance growing,
yet still a sparkle in her eye;
less mischievous,
down to business...
resolute in preparation.
a touch of teardrop,
formed in folded recesses,
slips unnoticed from its corner,
except the glistening trail it leaves,
as it trickles ’cross,
her amber meadow’s face;
now her lips will taste
the golden brilliance;
sunshine’s lazy breaking beams
drift above the sun-dried lawn,
a morning mist of rain-washed air,
the smell of moistened linen,
hanging o’er the low-hung lines,
blends refreshing scent
with drifting, harvest smoke,
from curling ember’s
dance on wood and leaves;
rising slowly, lightly
lapping in the breezes;
and in the distant sky,
we see, we smell, we taste,
every sense anticipates,
as droplets in formation wait;
the rains are coming,
summer slowly loosens grip.
her body feels the changing air,
a sad anticipation of the end;
but wistfully she knows,
of celebration coming
of harvest’s swoon,
of cradle moons
of wine, of dance, of song;
autumn’s coming, t’will be here soon
behind her winter won’t be long,
yet this today she holds,
let tomorrow wait;
let today for readying be,
the joyful jubilation,
a floral conflagration
summer’s final harvest, and
the autumn’s color ball!
~
*post script.
season’s change conjoured as a woman's face; of summer make-up being removed; of taking on autumn’s hues.
i’d be lying if i said i looked forward to NW winter and its rain, yet still it is a small price to pay for the lush, green hills and valleys of my corner of the world, of torrential waterfalls, even of my kitchen faucet, bearing sparkling, crystal, water from fresh, snow melt at the simple turn of a lever.*
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 3:06 AM UTC
~
her face more weathered
than the softened lines of spring,
the supple skin that i’d remembered;
bright rouge cheeks now faded,
first to ocher, then to umber,
over-baked in summer’s noonday sun.
a gentle rain has washed her clean,
has rinsed the dusty air,
and lips once parched and taut
refilled with moisture;
now the coming brilliance,
golden orange in varied hue,
the sultry face of haze,
of summer’s afternoon.
she turns slowly with a misty gaze,
a taste of autumn's coming glory.
a gradual distance growing,
yet still a sparkle in her eye;
less mischievous,
down to business...
resolute in preparation.
a touch of teardrop,
formed in folded recesses,
slips unnoticed from its corner,
except the glistening trail it leaves,
as it trickles ’cross,
her amber meadow’s face;
now her lips will taste
the golden brilliance;
sunshine’s lazy breaking beams
drift above the sun-dried lawn,
a morning mist of rain-washed air,
the smell of moistened linen,
hanging o’er the low-hung lines,
blends refreshing scent
with drifting, harvest smoke,
from curling ember’s
dance on wood and leaves;
rising slowly, lightly
lapping in the breezes;
and in the distant sky,
we see, we smell, we taste,
every sense anticipates,
as droplets in formation wait;
the rains are coming,
summer slowly loosens grip.
her body feels the changing air,
a sad anticipation of the end;
but wistfully she knows,
of celebration coming
of harvest’s swoon,
of cradle moons
of wine, of dance, of song;
autumn’s coming, t’will be here soon
behind her winter won’t be long,
yet this today she holds,
let tomorrow wait;
let today for readying be,
the joyful jubilation,
a floral conflagration
summer’s final harvest, and
the autumn’s color ball!
~
*post script.
season’s change conjoured as a woman's face; of summer make-up being removed; of taking on autumn’s hues.
i’d be lying if i said i looked forward to NW winter and its rain, yet still it is a small price to pay for the lush, green hills and valleys of my corner of the world, of torrential waterfalls, even of my kitchen faucet, bearing sparkling, crystal, water from fresh, snow melt at the simple turn of a lever.*
