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Of all the things
I've gladly left undone,
this unswept porch--
during the fall I like it best
for the sound of its leaves.

Michael McClintock

At the notch
between the peaks,
dawn appears--
beaming from the sinews
and old roots of an oak.

Michael McClintock

Bursting from a pod,
A milkweed seed seems content
Waiting in chill wind;
I turn to go inside
Leaving behind the moonlight.

Donna    (topic: autumn barrenness)

Just as the fall sky
fades from dim blue to black,
the moon breaks through...
suddenly all that matters
is lost in lavender clouds.

b'oki (Bette)    (topic: autumn barrenness)

In a cloudless sky,
lighting the barren landscape,
the morning sun
shines between bare branches
of the twisted old scrub oak.

Paul     (topic: autumn barrenness)

Before they touch ground
the wind sweeps them off their path;
falling leaves of gold--
even clouds are wandering
for a peaceful place to rest.

b'oki     (topic: autumn barrenness)



Beach plums have fallen
Among the sand dunes
Overlooking the sea;
The harvest moon is waning
Along with your love for me.


A windy autumn night
has left remnants at my door...
scarlet maple leaves,
slowly swirling on the porch,
waiting for your return.





Without the dew,
The milkweed down could catch
An October breeze--
I try to accept gratefully
What befalls me on this path.


The call of birds
mingles with the rustling pines
in the autumn breeze--
your voice stirs everywhere
as dusk spreads its long shadows.


My thoughts drift away
among the wind-tossed leaves,
as dawn approaches--
storm clouds begin to gather
with memories of times past.


Conversation warms
around an autumn fire--
embers kindle,
as swirls of smoke follow
the path of shifting wind.

b'oki    (topic: following)

Frost following frost...
Goldenrod and asters turn brown
Under a clear sky:
How foolish to shelter
The blooms of these impatiens!

Donna   (topic: following)


Transparent rain drops,
blood red on the maple leaf
as fall leaves its mark--
so too her quick departure
etches color on my heart.



After the storm
the pines have become still
in a moonless sky--
no footsteps stir the leaves
gathered on the doorsteps.



By rows
of wrought iron fences
city gardens divided--
no matter, leaves piling up
and over on all sides.



Silence remains
where the crickets once called
in the moonlight--
only the scarecrow's shadow
spreads across this empty field.



Putting away
The wind chimes 'til next spring--
These tangled threads;
My thoughts become knotted
In seasons of silence or wind.