Thursday, October 21, 2010

Thursday Poem - Frost in the Highlands

A crunching frost last evening in the highlands,
the lambent moon high above the trees,
a sweet embracing darkness and on high,
the aurora borealis dancing over the hill,
late October stillness lying like a shadow
on the trail below the oak trees at twilight.

Winter stirs among the short days, whispering
of darkness and cold moons still to come,
the rattling dry breath of the long nights,
much like these old bones that move creaking
through the grasses, leaves and fallen twigs.

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

There are ghost scents on the wind this
evening, of fresh turned earth and summer
fields, There are echoes of the wild geese
going south, the old rail fence creaking
as I leaned on it at dusk one night in June.

Listening, I hear the stream moving away in the gorge.
Rest now sister,
it tells me in its hollow voice.
Rest you now, for all things turn in time, and we,
like the seasons, must await the time of our tuning.


Cate Kerr (me)

9 comments:

One Woman's Journey said...

Oh my - "rest you now, for all things turn in time, and we, like the seasons, must await the time of our turning"
I needed to hear this - I need to remember - Thank You

Angie said...

Just beautiful!!

Chris said...

Beautiful musings today! I was studying the silhouette of the lady floating across the moon with the herrons on your logo. I thought...wouldn't it befit you more, if they were geese...on their northern journey? I can just hear them! :)

the wild magnolia said...

Magnificent dear Cate. Magnificent.

Moving observations of the season and the ways of the Old Wild Mother.

I loved it!

liliannattel said...

That's beautiful, Cate. I can see it.

Pallas Renatus said...

Wonderful shot. Is the plant one of yours? I'm dying to know what it is.

nancybond said...

There are ghost scents on the wind this evening, of fresh turned earth and summer fields, There are echoes of the wild geese going south, the old rail fence creaking
as I leaned on it at dusk one night in June.


This poem is absolutely wonderful. What skillful imagery...you paint with words.

kerrdelune said...

A wild rose in the hedgerow and a lovely thing when the frost is on it.

marigold said...

Thank you for the most exquisite poem! The very essence — and taste — of autumn...