The fallen leaves rustle priestly:

Red, yellow,

Golden brown

Scattered like gifts along this path,

Life’s ravine,

At the feet of those who birthed these offerings –

A loyal line of guardian trees.

A spirited wind,

Reminiscent music of the sea,

Moves through near-stripped branches

Moves through near-stripped me.

Along the winding trail

Energetic hounds, let loose by owners,

Foolishly chase their tails

Excited and giddy

Finally to be free.

Children, encouraged by parents,


Laugh and happily scream

Transported downhill,

The whizz of turning wheels,

Then trudge back up again,

As if in a reoccurring dream.

At the open expanse of the meadow

Late season sun warms young couples;

Stretched out idle innocence

On a luscious blanket of grass.

A reminder of unblemished love

That once might have been.

And there at the top of the hill

The worn out bench patiently waits

For this old friend to take his seat –

A silent logical act

So together we may witness

The tired season’s final scene.