THE VALLEY IN AUTUMN
From my perch atop Baybury Mount
I’m watching clouds
Slowly present their moulage,
Like post-gale shrouds.
After a rain,
The sun in position
casts gray shadows on the plain.
With Olympian eye,
A while to bathe.
Palmer Lake steams -
An elongated kidney form -
And the clouds, in reflection, seem…
Seem to impassion the now distant storm.
Everything’s so clean,
So newly born, pristine.
Old Baptist church, modest steeple rising, seems tall,
Come alive in the scene overall.
The scattered farms,
With their few fine cattle grazing,
Have, from autumn coat, gained a certain charm,
To one, long in residence, quite amazing.
Yes, I have to, closed-eyes, in wonder, shake my head.
“This is my valley!” I vigorously proclaim.
In mind’s most subtle vision, put to bed,
I’m nestled in her greenest meadow, there would I remain.