November Parade

Children spruce stand at the edge of the parade path,
The elder folk far back in the crowd,
good visibility through the thinning trees,
Celebrating and anticipating the arrival of winter.

The cheers run like a wave as the tree tops applaud.
A dance occurs ahead in the procession,
And all withdraw their breath.
Then the roar of the wind band comes from behind us
And the wave of appreciation begins anew.
The piper crickets join the exposition and
perform their best autumn tones,
And a hawk screams in delight.
Veterans of many years
parade these grounds and all is well.

Across the parade path, a giant has tumbled.
Human hands have lovingly placed
a few of its littered remains at the edge of the path.
Its tangled mess that lies fallow in the woods
will be lovingly used by other beings in not too much time.

And suddenly, the gig is over.
The parade path narrows and presents a tall fence,
Windward edge piled high with earlier leaves.
The Band disbands.
The watching kids have disappeared.
The applause seems to come from
Everywhere and no where.
And I, lonely interlocutor am satisfied,
Heart warmed from the walk
And the kiss of breeze
and welcome sunlight on my cheek.
Confetti streamers pop out as the celebration completes.
I sit on the make shift bleachers –
My coat on a a gentle ridge –
And close my eyes and open my soul.

Maple Majesty

What majesty turns you
from green to yellow to gold to orange to gone?
Why is your neighbor red,
the other brown,
the other green?

I wish I could find
the crayola words
to describe your beauty,
and the breath-eliminating way
the sun spotlight highlights your natural color,
or softens it, or adds golden tones.
Clairol can’t touch this.

Your gilded tresses
clutter my once-green carpet.
I bag and compost,
rake and compost,
tarp-pile and compost
and still
you share and shake and softly slide
onto the yard.

Tomorrow you will be all but bald.
Next year, you will emerge
in the sweetness of July’s Early Girl
and August’s Best Boy.

This month,
you are a brief and glorious blast.
What majesty!

Greetings, DOW!

Greetings, Dame Olive Writers!

Question, Kimberly: have I now gotten signed up for the blog and is this going on it? We'll see! Just got back from Churchill, Manitoba where I saw polar bears. Way cool!!! Elizabeth