From the edge, Fall 11.08.
2009 From the edge of our porches and decks, we can peer Into the slow darkening The passing of a day The 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, fall Assuredly Descends. From the edge of our decks we watch a three-pronged red maple leaf teased From a limb, a branch, it’s shelf-life declared past. And other leaves, yellow, orange, brown all fading Colors of the sun, all Teased off the nib on the branch by the unseen wind A wind just this side of cool Blowing from the wrong direction. From the edge of our decks Some of us cock our heads To point our ears at a sound. Through an open window from a non-descript white house Down the way Past where we can see in this lack of light A cry from some recently born Nascent mind Cradled in the arms Of a cooing mother A rag on her head A smile on her face Delighting in the need To shush and comfort That which she holds like gold In her sure arms The strongest arms in the world Around the infant. When does it happen that the shush goes from that easy comfort To the offhand rebuke of a parent, To the teasing of a dear friend in later years, In years that descend on us, our own fall Teased from a life that cooed and rebuked and nourished? That comfort gone and now in the wind pushing the leaves Drying on the ground and piling of chromatic leaf upon chromatic leaf
Against a fence, a fencepost, a stand of grass Uncut. 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 street Dogs wait for dinner bowls To fill, to be filled By 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 see Every day On a night like this We might find a spot of magic, perhaps A shrouded female Ghosting under the oak As the light fades. She it is, a queen of past days, Perhaps giggled at by some boys At their peril. She it is, twin of Apollo, but as who does she come? Queen of the hunt or fertility? She comes to the city Filled with people “About their business” at the end of the falling day. Does she carry a bow and arrow, and Does she string the bow and arrow for the kill? Or like Eros does she reward Her cult followers? Her temple one of the Seven Wonders of the World Brought back to life Under the tree, Moving among us Even on a fall day As we look out from our decks And then turn To the house To fill a dog bowl. From the edge of vision As we go about our business As Fall descends
From the edge of vision a simple magic Glides through our life. Sensed And reacted to. A small voice, cries, in the falling light From a room, “Mommy leave the light on!”