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Weathering



Weathering

 

Fall, and the summer people

move on.

The peeling trucks

at the boat ramp--

the piebald rafts

drifting in shallows--

 

give way to shuttered windows

 
and listing red buoys.

 

There are voices across the water,
 
 
a fisherman strays by the reeds,
 
 
but the thickets wear a peignoir
 
 
of gathered silver mist.

 

I took the hammock down yesterday.

The woodpeckers on the roof are gone; 

soon deer will emerge

and leave pearly tracks in the frost.

 

I saw geese lift towards the south,

but I remain through winter.

 

The lake comes alive in November.

It has a thousand tongues;

they call down the yellow leaves

in the night rain.

 

Category: My articles | Added by: Kristin (09.20.2011)
Views: 394 | Comments: 1 | Rating: 0.0/0
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