Autumn

On a dry November day when the creeks ran low, smoke was in the air and Elk were in the meadow, it seemed fitting to be here. These mountains are old friends, comfortable sitting in silence, sometimes there is nothing more to say.

I am drawn to the emotions of seasons, the mood evoked as the landscape is transformed. Autumn has its own special place.

Autumn

A leaf forgets to hang on
falling in brilliant reds and yellows
gently swaying on a warm breeze
to settle on earth with those who came before

Seed and fruit of hillside plants
likewise loosen their grip
finding a place in the dormant soil
to await the coming spring

In the welcoming swish and shuffle
of dry leaves underfoot I too can forget
I can let go of worldly travail
in the solace of a woodland

I forget best with the push of a
clear cold mountain stream
against my legs

when the mountainside is
resplendent in deep earth tones
and a warm sun feels good on my shoulder

when whitewater tumbles in cascade
over ancient granite
flowing in deep pool and shallow riffle

when shadows are long and
nature pauses to allow
Autumn to slip into Winter

A Widening Stream
(The Immigrant Stream)

Sitting on the bank
feet dangling in the water
I wonder where all this comes from

At first glance it appears one
flowing unerringly. Upon closer look
individual currents are seen
braided, swirling, rising and diving

each having origin elsewhere
some remote tributary no doubt
bringing uniqueness, color, memory and song
to add to the widening stream

Some are calm, some unruly
some mix easily, others with difficulty
flowing in cataract and peaceful run

Would I not like to sit by the
widening stream of my home country
my feet safely placed in the mix
expecting yet another collection of tributaries
to braid together as one

diving, swirling, and rising
as they flow between these banks
in the time we share