Lying in a bed,
A bed of leaves
Crisply golden,
Biting into a crunchy
White fleshed apple,
An apple of acidic varietal origins unknown
Green skinned, mottled, slighty dry
Delicious
Listening,
Listening to the auburn rustle
Left behind
On branches,
Gnarled
Pointing heavenward,
Branches
Left by that wind witch who came through
Cackling at the trees
At the trees struck hard falling;
I heard them break down on rocks
Last night
Crack!
They fell
Not from the woodsman’s axe
Nor hatchet
Cleft in bark
Yet down
Down they went
And she
She howled
Howled at the windowpanes
Looking in
To see
If there was a crack
To sneak in
Through.
This morning
A pair of bucks locked horns
Below the apple tree
While a doe watched
Tick tock
Time elapsed
She
She ran
Into the woods
With a backward glance
One quick peek from under long lashes framing her slanted windows
Then she was gone
Spurring the bucks onward
Until one claimed higher ground
Reared up on hind legs
Not a drop of blood marked the ground
Though the tumultuous battle raged
On then Crack!
Antlers break
Marking territory claimed
In a sinuous dance
Of courtship
Under auburn leaves blazing
Blazing against the blue sky
Where turtles
And even a few swans float
Slowly drifting then
A gentle breeze
And a shower of titian,
Russets mottled with green birthmarks
Tissue thin and veined,
Drops lightly
Veiling us where we lie
Our nostrils flare and we sneeze
Tickled by their edges.
A kingfisher flies overhead
Chrr chrrr chrr
Blue wings caught by the eye as he streaks
Then breaks land on the naked branch
Left behind by leaves that waited
For this instant
In which to fall
Opening a door that said
WELCOME
In bold letters
Carved from no
Unaccountable block of wood
Haunted with the essence of
A life once lived
Before being turned
By hands into some thing
This thing new and use full
The kingfisher flies away
Wings wide open it dips in lightly
Fish in beak
It goes
To warmer climes
Where spiny acanthus grows beside a dollhouse,
Tidy and sweet,
Proud spikes raised heavenward
It leans against an old door
Hinges rusty
A door set into a wall of stone
It once lived leafy green and waxy
Then glowed golden delicious
On a crisp auburn afternoon
Its bark marking it
At birth
White oak
White oak.
An exploration via the Wordle found here, for more poems and mind love . .
You did, too, the imagery of the bucks, locked horns, and the crack sound was powerful.
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Thank you!
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What an outstanding job, an odyssey for the senses. I was with the narrator from start to finish. You really captured the essence of fall
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Thank you!
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