the river grey lashes out like a cornered beast whenever the great bell is rung
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death’s grip on the trunk and strangely fear is gone
laughter with the autumn rain is a festival if you believe it so
larger than life: silence that grows after the first thunder of autumn
autumn skies darken and catkin shadows come out to play
caught in the autumn haze: wildflowers seem closer to home
autumn fog: everyone gets a personal cloud
it can be kind of special when you don’t seem to belong
when the creek becomes shallow enough to whisper and not rush
beyond fogged windows the thin smile of autumn’s crescent smiles upon the lonely traveller
