Tag Archives: Fall

Fall

Fall’s Maple leaves are so beautiful in Settlement Canyon, I cannot resist sharing one of my Fall poems and some photographs of my favorite local haunt.

 

 

 

 

FALL

Fall has become
in my advancing years
a sweet season
sending forth
a settling sense
of things slowing down
preparing to rest
under white blankets
that warm and moisten
against year’s end.
Nights are cool
and days are sunny and cool.
Rows of dry corn
sheaves rasp each other
in the evening air.
Geese wave
a noisy farewell
overhead on their way away.
Greens melt
to candy yellows and reds
smelling earthy sweet
drifting down to become
the richness in the soil
where sleeping segos and tapertips
wait for Spring.

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Fall

Tooele T crop1

Fall.  It has come early.  I bask in cool breezes, comforting after Summer’s heat, but knowing, also, that Winter will too soon chase its way in.  This mountain between Middle Canyon and Pine Canyon in the Oquirrh range of the Rockies sports the yellow leaves of Quaking Aspen trees, the reds of Gambel Oaks, and the evergreen Junipers, Pines, and Spruces.  I snapped this picture from the roof of City Hall, knowing I might need forgiveness after failing to ask permission–I just couldn’t resist.  Note the white “T” plastered on the mountain, for Tooele (too-i’-la) high school.

FALL

Fall has become
in my advancing years
a sweet season
sending forth
a settling sense
of things slowing down
preparing to rest
under white blankets
that warm and moisten
against year’s end.
Nights are cool
and days are sunny and cool.
Rows of dry corn
sheaves rasp each other
in the evening air.
Geese wave
a noisy farewell
overhead on their way away.
Greens melt
to candy yellows and reds
smelling earthy sweet
drifting down to become
the richness in the soil
where sleeping segos and tapertips
wait for Spring.

Maple Leaf

20150829_161249

I sometimes walk the neighborhoods near city hall during the lunch hour, trying to calm my mind from the troubles of the office.  On one such walk I beheld, on the ground, a beautiful maple leaf in the process of transforming from Summer’s green to Fall’s crimson hues.  I regarded her as the quintessence of natural beauty, and could not resist both scooping her up and writing this poem.

MAPLE LEAF

A leaf,
a many-pointed Maple,
demanded
that I look down
and see her,
her splashes of swirling colors,
laying with feigned humility
on a bed of matted elms,
paper-bag-brown.
She lay unspeaking,
satisfied to be admired,
to not be drab,
satisfied that I was tempted
to stoop and handle her,
satisfied with my sighs.
I could not walk away
and not take her with me.

(I did not have a camera with me as I walked, but the maple leaf pictured above is an acceptable substitute, found during a walk in Ophir Canyon.)