Thick coils of wood smoke
twist into skies washed pale blue by autumn rains.
Sturdy boots crunch leaves
as trees lay bare their summer secrets.
Cheeks red from winds, chill and cold,
tingle into life and bubble with laughter.
Top-hat mushrooms with ruffled skirts
peek from under rotten logs.
Haunting loons sing farewell to summer,
their warbles dance across a dark lake cold with sleep.
Image Credit
“Fall Leaves Maple Fractal” by jsbanks42. www.flickr.com. Some rights reserved.
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I dunno Gab. The parental unit would have found it lovely but pointed out that there is no rhyming thus not very *poemy*.
If part of the poetic impulse is to evoke a sense of something you’ve hit the mark. It feels like *fall*. Painterly observation and concise. I like it.
Dipping my toe into the non-rhym-y, poetry is scary dood. (Dipping my toe into any kind of poetry is seriously scary…so thanks.)