Poetry Friday is hosted by Laura at Writing the World for Kids
Big piles of leaves tower along the sidewalks of every street. Just about all the leaves have tumbled from their branches, their autumn glory long past peak. Up at our farm we could see plumes of smoke rising here and there in the valley, and every once in a while (when the wind shifted just so) we could catch a whiff of leaves burning – acrid and earthy, the last of this year’s vegetation.
It was grey and gloomy when I set out to work this morning…soon it will be grey and gloomy when I set off for home, too. Fall color has given way to dull November. As the poem says, we are letting go of color and preparing for something else…something tells me that I am not quite ready…
Toward the Solstice
We burned our leaves on the bluest October day,
the sun still warm on our backs,
frost just a ghost in the shrubbery.
We raked the leaves into shifting piles on the lawn,
scooped them into deep round baskets
and spilled them in the street against the curb.
The vein of fire, unseen at first in diamond light,
whispered through oak leaves brown as butcher paper,
and maple still flushed with color like maps
torn from The Book of Knowledge.
We were letting go of October, relinquishing color,
readying ourselves for streets lacquered with ice,
the town closed like a walnut, locked inside the cold.