The fleeing clouds have cleansed the tawny earthen meadows
Migrating sun doth steal away waning light of summer’s glee
High atop fir boughs bow in wind whispered homage
To the sapience the coloured leaves hath gleaned
The sweet scent of auburn brindled pinecone clusters
Ooze of glistening pitchy resinous fruit
Sticky figured squirrels chatter while they gather,
Stashing a survival cache of acorns and spinner seeds,
For another moment in sleepy winter tide dreams
A swirling eddy of spiraling leaves whirl beneath the tall timber
Fluttering gracefully with a gravity only falling leaves embolden
Enchanting like the evanescent timbre poignant piano notes decay
Writhing silent as summer Jasmine’s fragrant final bloom
Dandelion wishes soaring higher to kiss the fleeting winged skies
Lazily adrift up and over Cascade Mountain Crest
Fuzzy treetop flyers ascending far beyond darting dragonflies below
The sliver of golden harvest moon’s blossom aglow ,…
While wishing upon a shooting star's paling gleams
Serendipity sown about whimsically in the blustery wind
For to sow the will of untamed heart’s desires
A festive troop of Chickadees clinging like tiny acrobats
Foraging on ripened ginger hued fir-cone seeds
Wings to the sky wave goodbye to the deciduous cadence
Softly wafting with a pungent Lavender potion scented breeze
There is a secret place where memories go to hide deeply alive
Amongst the wild wood and impending leafless trees,
The only place on earth I've ever understood a sense of belonging
Where Autumn coloured leaves whisper in the gentle breeze ,…
“I would do it all over again”
Come September ,..when the leaves come falling down
© ... September 15th, 2016
if … we will be remembered by our poetry;
It would be my hope to be recollected
for an intimately personal love and respect of all creation
Although there has not always been an emboldened sense of belonging with others, I have come to understand I've always belonged to the untamed wilderness of myself, still understanding that love is the eternal purpose I'll strive ―
Sometimes we sense that we feel too much
Being highly sensitive is not an imperfection but a gift - -
not a misunderstood, stigmatized, dark & broken star
befallen a Sky full of Stars
always believe a poem can make a difference -- even if it is only a difference within you-- rivers
Come September ,..when the leaves come falling down
Written by: h.a. rivers
