One day, something very old
happened again. The green leaves
turned their youthful glow to
deeper russet and copper,
falling, like sighing maidens,
from summer’s now
gnarled and weathered branches,
tumbling to earth grown tired
and gray with frost.
The wind commenced to sweep
the meadows clean and dust the forest floor.
Rain washed and settled autumn’s careless rubble.
Chill air quieted the chirping birds
and let a peaceful silence calm the sleepy woods.
Light fell, steeply angled, through naked limbs
and Mother Earth sighed.
It was as good as ever:
cherries dropped, blood red,
cornstalks hid the deer,
windfall apples were reborn as steaming cider,
hay bales, like simple caskets, edged the field,
sentries for quiet Winter’s passing.
I sighed and settled tired bones.
It was a peaceful evening.
—
Janice F. Booth is a writer and educator. Her long-running garden column appears monthly. She authored Crofton: Images of America. Jan’s poetry is included in three anthologies; Still Singing: Six Women Poets, The Song In the Room: Six Women Poets, The Antioch Poetry Retreat: a Gathering of Poets, The Road Beneath Our Feet and periodicals, including S/He Speaks, photospecchio, Pendemic Journal, Silk Road Blog, HungerX, and the ESWA Bay to Ocean Journal (2023 & 2024).
