Thursday, September 08, 2016

Thursday Poem - Song of Autumn

In the deep fall
don't you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don't you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
inside their bodies? And don't you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

Mary Oliver

5 comments:

Laura~Pretty Pix said...

Lovely image
wonderful read!

Tabor said...

Just that perfect time of year. Wish I could capture it in a bottle.

kerrdelune said...

Me too, Tabor, I love this time of year and wish it was longer!

Barbara Rogers said...

As always I love Mary Oliver's words...this is one I hadn't read before, so it was a really good feeling this chilly morning. Ah, wood piles, and stoves, which I don't have. But I bet if I go out this morning I can smell the wood smoke from a few around here!

Luna Crone said...

Happy sigh...

Thank you...

Luna Crone