Thursday, October 02, 2008

Thursday Poem - Autumn Song

A crunching frost last evening in the highlands,
the lambent moon high above the trees,
a sweet embracing darkness and the
aurora borealis dancing over the hill,
autumn stillness flowing like a river almost visible,
down the trail below the oaks at nightfall.

Winter stirs among the short days, there's
the whisper of cold moons yet to come,
the rattling dry breath of coming long nights,
like these old bones that move creaking
through the brown grass, fallen leaves and twigs

Patterns everywhere, and not of my making,
but the Old Wild Mother's perfect weaving,
marbled stones, hoary branches, mottled leaves,
prints of wolf and deer along the winding trail,
puddles deep in the wooded hollows rimed with ice,
shreds of tattered birch bark blowing free.

There are fragile ghosts on the wind this evening,
scents of fresh turned earth and summer fields,
loons on the dreaming lake singing to their kin,
echoes of wild geese going south, the old rail
fence creaking when I leaned on it at dusk in June.

I can hear the stream moving cold in its faraway gorge.
Rest, little sister, it tells me in its hollow voice, rest
you now, for all things turn in time, and we too, like
the seasons, must await the time of our turning.
As we attend our sure translation into story,
light and song, let us make a joyful noise.

2 comments:

One Woman's Journey said...

Cate, this is beautiful. My leaves have only started to color.
When I read your poetry it seems like some of your verses are speaking directly to me.
Thank you

Sky said...

"...let us make a joyful noise" indeed!

such delightful gifts here on this mid-day thursday visit. :)