Celebrating my favorite season in verse

 Over the years I often wrote poems about fall. September and October have been my favorite months since I was probably a 'tween, in that space between child and young adult.The wind somehow is less abrasive then, the blaze of sumemr is over and until I moved to Colorado, I really did not dread winter much. Along the southwestern border area, fall usually lingered at least until mid to late November. Halloween was rarely too cold to go trick or treating in your costume--mine were always home made--without a coat to  hide it! Some of my poems were dark but others full of the golden light that I associate with the Solstice to Equinox period of the year.  So enjoy if you will. 

These are all copyrighted, of course but if one touches you,  it can be shared with credit given. They span Arizona to Colorado and California, even to Colorado and New Mexico.  And some random photos from my collection, only the first is mine. The second either my dad's or late brother's and in Arizona.

September in Colorado        

September in the mountains

Comes in gold and brightest blue

to hold a potlatch for the lucky few.

     Brief the aspens golden dance

     Underneath the turquoise sky

     As if they knew the end was nigh.

Dance and be merry today

For too soon snowflakes will fly;

Dance and be happy, tomorrow we die.

   Wearing the sacred turquoise

    To celebrate the season

    The air is joyful, needing no reason.

To skip across the hillsides

Scattering leaves and flowers,

Cooling and drying, chasing the showers.

    September in the mountains,

    Dressed for a festive fling

    Remembers winter is followed by spring.

                        GMW, 24 Sep 1974

Fall Reflection

Golden haze of autumn days

That lead the heart in peaceful ways

And hold the winter’s roars at bay, 

Above the mountains, far away.

Wandering by lazy streams

Where drifting leaves echo the dreams

Of happy past and future sure

With summer’s bounty stored, secure.

A time to savor and reflect,

Enjoy what one must oft neglect—

The sense that when all’s said and done,

One is all and all are one.    

                        GMW, 1982

Summer’s End

Winter comes, but not here yet,

   she slyly lures us to forget

with these balmily lazy days

   of Indian Summer, her harsh ways.

Forget the snow, the wind, the cold,

   growing careless, getting bold--

grasshoppers dancing in the sun,

   heedless of tasks that lie, undone.

 

Forget October is not spring,

   manana's drowsy tune to sing.

Watching a scatter of golden leaves

   awaiting the end of their reprieves,

I am tempted, though I know

   how soon the wintery winds can blow;

How they chill me to the bone

   and make me fear and feel alone.

Anticipating harsher days

   and dreading winter's grinding ways

I yet enjoy this restful time--

   summer's last fling, a gift sublime.

                        GMW, C: 1994

Autumn at Huachuca          

Slowly summer fades to fall  

In little changes after all

Comes age or death or fall of night.

Only if you tune your sight

And other senses can you tell.           

Nature keeps her secrets well,            

But there are many subtle clues         

Appearing now to break the news.

Summer slowly slips away,

Bit by bit and day by day—

A hint of coolness in the air,

Leaves gone dusty everywhere.         

Clouds remain, but not the same       

Even birds have changed their game,

Now in flocks instead of pairs,

Singing different, sadder airs.           

                        GMW, 1992   

Autumn Gold

Gold is the color of autumn

   The flowers, the leaves and the light.

As green is the color of summer

   And blue is the color of night.

Pink is the color of springtime;

   The color of winter is gray;

But I love the gold of autumn

   And wish the color would stay.      

                        18 Oct 63

 

                        I

The aspens march in golden ranks

encircling the mountain's flanks

and wait in martial silent rows

while overhead the fall sun glows,

washing with gold, in wild excess,

aspens' parade in autumn dress.

 

                        II

Within a haze of golden trees

  a stream sang golden songs

I dreamed and hoped that I had found

  the spot my soul belongs.

The cliffs were rust, the sky was blue

  and gold was bridged between

to fill the air and fill the earth,

  for me, their Golden Queen.

 

                        III

I walk beside the golden stream,

     sad that it is just a dream.

How cool that flowing gold appears,

     and how serene, unmarked by tears.

If leaves were coins I would be

     in wealth for all eternity...

From bondage I could buy my soul

     and free again, I would be whole.

 

                        I-III C: 1990