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From the Edge, Fall

From the Edge, Fall

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Published by Steve U
The magic of seasons changing, and night descending.
The magic of seasons changing, and night descending.

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Published by: Steve U on Mar 29, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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11/08/2012

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From the edge, Fall
11.08.2009
From the edge of our porches and decks, we can peer Into the slow darkeningThe passing of a dayThe sensing of a coming…Fall descends. As spring rises with green shoots and rising stream levels,And as winter settles with a gentle blanket of cold, fallAssuredlyDescends.From the edge of our decks we watch a three-pronged red maple leaf teasedFrom a limb, a branch, it’s shelf-life declared past.And other leaves, yellow, orange, brown all fadingColors of the sun, allTeased off the nib on the branch by the unseen windA wind just this side of coolBlowing from the wrong direction.From the edge of our decksSome of us cock our headsTo point our ears at a sound.Through an open window from a non-descript white houseDown the wayPast where we can see in this lack of lightA cry from some recently born Nascent mindCradled in the armsOf a cooing mother A rag on her headA smile on her faceDelighting in the needTo shush and comfortThat which she holds like goldIn her sure armsThe strongest arms in the worldAround the infant.When does it happen that the shush goes from that easy comfortTo the offhand rebuke of a parent,To the teasing of a dear friend in later years,In years that descend on us, our own fallTeased from a life that cooed and rebuked and nourished?That comfort gone and now in the wind pushing the leavesDrying on the ground and piling of chromatic leaf upon chromatic leaf 
 
Against a fence, a fencepost, a stand of grassUncut.In random fractal patterns, the shushing of leaf On leaf a tease itself, of the past days of summer Spent on lazy heat.Up and down the streetDogs wait for dinner bowlsTo fill, to be filledBy those who are their gods and goddeses.Do you think we’ll hear their cries?And if we look, from our decks, if we look Just past what we normally seeEvery dayOn a night like thisWe might find a spot of magic, perhapsA shrouded femaleGhosting under the oak As the light fades.She it is, a queen of past days,Perhaps giggled at by some boysAt their peril.She it is, twin of Apollo, but as who does she come?Queen of the hunt or fertility?She comes to the cityFilled with people“About their business” at the end of the falling day.Does she carry a bow and arrow, andDoes she string the bow and arrow for the kill?Or like Eros does she rewardHer cult followers?Her temple one of the Seven Wonders of the WorldBrought back to lifeUnder the tree,Moving among usEven on a fall dayAs we look out from our decksAnd then turnTo the houseTo fill a dog bowl.From the edge of visionAs we go about our businessAs Fall descends

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ViVu Shukla liked this
Steve U liked this
Shyam Adrift added this note
beautiful! the seasons so well interpolated with life, love it!
Sal Page added this note
I love living where there are four seasons, and they are well defined. As I drive home from work every day now, the Canada geese are gathering in Walloon Lake from points north. Yesterday there were 50; today 150 or more. When they disappear, get ready, winter is coming quickly.
Steve U liked this

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