Season's End

There is a sense of mourning in Autumn.
The last fiery color before the cold and gray
when Autumn reaches out to those around her,
desperate to connect
before the veil comes down--
before everything changes
and she is
alone.

(Thanks to Pandora of "Poetry & Creative Expressions" for the inspiration.)

we reach the summit
as we crest the hill
the ground
becomes slippery
under our feet

I reach out
instinctively
and with the awful clarity
of a moment
frozen in time
I realize that
I am grasping
at dandelions--
tenuous and insubstantial

We walk, wondering
at the blossoming creation surrounding us.
Each tree going to seed,
each flower in its created vigor.

As we crest the hill
together
it becomes ice
under our feet

I reach out instinctively
and realize with the panicked clarity of frozen time
that flower has gone to seed.

early morning
giving way to stifling day
the fog lifts

early morning

mirage

The angel of God
sails through the trees
ripping off the branches
in his wake
changing the landscape
of my life