Notes About The Poem
poem written based upon this image from rosecreations.com
Autumn on Parchment
The painting feels like stepping into a quiet study~
that old parchment background carrying Keats’s lines
as though the poem has settled there for years,
warming the page from within.
A bronze vase with a hint of patina,
holds its autumnal bouquet without fuss:
soft orange petals, a few crimson blooms,
maple leaves turned the color of old metal.
Nothing is loud; everything leans gently
into the season’s slower breath.
The vase rests on a small stack of books~
their spines worn, their pages edged with age.
They look like they’ve been gathered
from someone’s favorite shelf,
placed there not for show
but because autumn belongs beside stories.
To the left, a candle lifts its flame,
a small wavering glow that seems to think
before it moves.
Its light brushes the bouquet
in a small, wandering way,
glances off the books,
then drifts toward the parchment
as though warmth simply
found its own path there.
And the scene~
it doesn’t freeze in place so much as
settle for a moment,
letting autumn lean into the objects
that seem to know how to share
a quiet day.
Fall brushes the bouquet,
touches the books,
and finds the edges of the parchment
as if it knows exactly where warmth is needed.
The whole scene feels like a moment
held gently in place~
autumn settling into objects
that remember how to keep company
with lanquid days.
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