Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

Autumn 
paints New England,
staining hillsides, wrapped
in red,

garnishing the trail
beneath my steps.

The season spills
like cabernet across
a changing landscape;
where the maples 
bleed
their aging, amber 
leaves.

I stroll
amidst the falling flames,
below the blazing 
treetops,
the crisp air thick
with life, that's soon
to rest.

I walk
through spreading fire,
listen to leaves, their stories
rustling underfoot– 
As Autumn’s vivid, 
vibrant gift prepares 
to vanish 
from the view.

And I 
have never known
another place, to burn 
so bright in red defiance, 
and I stand, here
in the art of it– I breathe 
inside this portrait 
of an Autumn 
in New England.

Humbled, though
it hurts
to hold what lingers
and what leaves
in just one breath–

A quiet, crimson sorrow
cloaked
in boldest, brightest
hues–
where the branches bare
their warmth in
celebration–

where the greens
refuse
to simply fade to gray.

One last breath
of leaf and smoke,
one final stroll
beneath the burning trees,
another look before
the fire dies
in winter's restless
wind.

And when
the reds lie blanketed
in white
upon the hillsides of
New England,

I'll think of Autumn’s color, and
let go;

Knowing that I had it–
if only
for a season.

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