Ephemeral truce.
The dark begins
its long winning streak.
But for now
in this disheveled garden
a riot of blowsy flowers
hangs on like a chorus
of aging show girls
still with a few good kicks.
The air is ripe
with seedy perfume
and pleasant lies,
the pomegranate shared
between two mouths.
This is our second harvest,
the corn, the squash,
the reconstructed
memories of summer.
Ceres, comfort us with apples,
with grapes and the wine of grapes.
Wheaten breads are baked
in the shape of the sun.
We savor them
with honey.
It will be a long time
before this golden
moment comes again.
Dolores Stewart Riccio
2 comments:
Yesterday turned cool and rainy, and it looks the same today...a break from 90 degree days. I know there will stil be more heat, but this is so lovely, and leaves are falling...I love the season of letting go, preparing for the darker days. This is a lovely poem, thanks from North Carolina.
What a beautiful photo! To me it's almost as if there is a window beyond the foreground to the left, with the light of the sun reflecting off the water and a sheer curtain to the right, as if one is peeking through a window into another realm... Another magical moment through your photography :) I know, it must be those forest elves playing tricks :)))
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