September snowfall
up in mounts tall. . .
What a tease. . .

Check your calendars
and clocks–
there or here,
and you’ll see
we’re not quite yet to
the equinox,

nor to the start
of mad breeze whooshing,
nor the greatest rush
of blushing, browning,
and then, downing
of most autumn leaves.

Day by day,
we’ll take our slant-lit
fire-hued walks,
and smell dry fields
with gold dry grass
and stacks of hay,

and slowly we will come to see
what in the future’s writ
and how it’s spelt,

but not till
long past
the sad sweet fated second
when the last of these
first icy flakes does melt.

Eventually, we’ll come to see
if winter will
to us and to these parts
be unpitying vicious
or merciful and kind. . .

for the present here and now,
wonder though we will
with curiosity,
those secrets are beyond
the reaches
of our human hearts and mind.

But we can still find
dreams and magic
in the shine
in this first dusting
of sparkling white snowfall

This entry was posted in Autumn, Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Seasons, Uncategorized, Winter and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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