Shearing the Willows

I wrote this poem a few years ago when I passed this ancient willow in the town where I grew up. Someone had decided to cut the ancient lady down, and as I saw them preparing to make the first cuts a powerful wind blew up and carried much of her 'hair' away, to be blown about the workmen. A deep melancholy filled the air, as though in pause, the whole of the land were bidding farewell.

I, too, was swept up in this moment of remembrance as images from my childhood and the sight of that tree merged. I remembered driving past it so many times as a teen, not noticing it in my haste to be where I was headed. I remembered being driven past as a young child on my way to my grandparents house and watching the tree fade, wondering why it was so much bigger than the others that grew near. And I remembered that many years later, when I first returned to the area of my youth, passing that tree and smiling because it was still there.

I was overwhelmed with the autumnal feeling of letting go, loss, and a deep melancholy. So powerful were these feelings that words came swift but short, taking my breath and squeezing from my eyes the tears that the land could not shed for her.

Golden tresses blowing

flowing in the breeze

Little yellow locks

falling where they please

Covering grasses

in masses

of coins, fallen from trees.

And yesterday is gone

And tomorrow's never here

And today is covered over

With Autumn's last shear

And today is covered over

With Autumn's last shear...

Forever Days

  Today I spent an afternoon playing with my son in giant piles of leaves that we had together raked. A nostalgia for my own early childhood sidled up beside me with the crisp scent of autumn and the chill that wove its spell on us both. The abandon of play is something that it is so easy to forget, and in this, it is he that leads the way.

      Time wafted by us; one of those forever moments that hangs and waits for you to catch up. His laughter filled our yard and told me that today, at least, was a day to remember.

Winter's hand holds hard to Autumn.

When crystalline lace whitens the pale morning,

I remember loss in the days when hours were months;

a farewell to color for the ages.

Now, as years have both dulled and enhanced my eyes

I gaze in wonder upon innocence at play.

Looking forward seems easy

when all you have is forward times.

The endless yesterday but a dream,

giving minimal form to the moment.

Farewell to Summer

Fare thee well to the summer dawn

Watch as the trees are drawn to slumber

Leaving in umber, red, and gold

Whilst edging cold slips in morning mist

To linger, frosty kiss on grass

Summer has past, long live summer