Tag Archives: autumn

Poems for the season

7 Oct

I started a morning routine of taking Nanuq for a walk after seeing the girls off on their school bus. Fall has long been my favourite season and I’ve been relishing the day-to-day changes in the forest paths behind my house. Lately my morning routine has grown to include composing a few lines to capture the mood of the forest.

With my phone invariably in my pocket, I started posting these little vignettes to Twitter; this adds the constraint of keeping each poem to less than 140 characters. You may notice that many of my daily poems took the form of haikus, but not all.

Since these fragments will eventually get buried on Twitter, I thought I’d collect them up and post them here.

September 16
Leaves litter the path
Yellow on brown earth, blue sky
Glorious autumn

September 16
Sentier de feuilles mortes
Brun de la terre, bleu des cieux
L’automne glorieux

September 22
The forest floor is a muted quilt.
The remaining leaves above tremble in anticipation
Of the climax, the descent,
And then sweet sleep.

September 25
Misty grey of frozen ground
Crust of ice in dimpled earth
Unbroken, untrodden,
But resigned to the coming sun 

September 26 (driving home from downtown)
Blinding bright sunshine
Mysterious river mist
This autumn morning

September 29
skeletal branches
reach up in supplication,
pleading for winter

September 30 (first snowfall!)
Limbs stretch out to sleep
As a blanket of wet snow
Embraces the trees

September 30
The path treacherous
Slips and slides under my feet
Good day to stay home

October 1
Oh deceitful trail
Lulling me with soft cover
Icy trap beneath

October 1
Yes, we may complain
But we’re winter fatalists
Seeking attention

October 1 (on my way home from an evening concert)
Low-slung moon hanging heavy in the sky
Half-hid in shadow, half-face bright
Sweeping the earth, drawing my gaze
Crown jewel of the night

October 6
The earth falls asleep
Nature sighs, hibernating
We go back to work

 

 

 

 

Autumn leaves

5 Oct

This is the very essence of a perfect autumn day.

Autumn rain

25 Aug

It’s raining again, but the dog must go out.

“Take my poncho,” he says.  And so I do.  In the green poncho and green rubber boots I must look like a giant insect, but nobody else wants to be out in the rain, so there is no one around to see me.

The rain is gentle, not a bad time to be outside.  With 6 months of belly, I am much slower now.  I take a plodding pace and thus have all the more time to look around me.

The light filtered through rainclouds somehow makes everything seem brighter, vivid.  There is yarrow shining white as the moon.  Scarlet fireweed burns to be noticed in its autumnal glory.  Poplar leaves, whose youthful spring green first turned silver with summer leaf-miners, now change again to the yellow of fall.  Rosehips glow like Christmas lights.  I pluck one and eat the bland yet pleasing flesh.

Drops of rain hang heavy at the ends of long pine needles.  It is only since moving north that I have learned to remember which is a spruce tree and which is pine.  Now even my toddler can tell a spruce cone from a pinecone.

I take hold of a spruce branch and create a rainstorm of my own.  I put my thumb out to touch a droplet suspended from a pine needle and of course it finds me irresistable.  The droplet rests there on the pad of my thumb, a bright bead.  When I put my finger down to it, I can hold it up, stretch it, see the forest in miniature in the tiny crystal ball.  I laugh at my fanciful thoughts.

My heavy boots slide down the trails, trails turned to wet clay in the rain.  The dog runs in and out of the tall grasses, smiling at me with his tongue lolling out.  He looks like a fuzzy pup with this rain in his hair.

After a while, there is home again.  I splash through one more puddle, listen to a few more rain drops, then I head inside.  Truly it is autumn in the Yukon.