There is the red and green and brown and gold,
fall shrinking leaves,
which people beautifully
that pair
of Western Redbush trees
that, catching slanting autumn light,
shone from behind,
do kiss my eyes. . .

These trees I see as friends,
as I walk
and make my morning rounds,
and, as I see the ways they ever change,
a perpetual tickle and delight
to entertain my brain,
with each day’s and micro-season’s
special guise.

But still, there’s something
in their beauty,
I feel I’m missing,
without capturing
in oil, charcoal or in pixil
to get inside the way
they feel and grow. . .

I get big hints,
from passing close
and breathing their same air,

but it’s something that with them
and all of you,
as skies move quick
toward winter’s wet and white
from summer blue,
I have this begging ache
truly to better know
and share.

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

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