It's Coming
Old are the oak trees and green their velvet skirting
as grouped around the clearing they stand stoic awaiting winter.
The grasses long have laid them down and pulled up leafy covers.
Here, long ago, we laughed and ran between wind and sun and forest.
Now I trace tracks on the very narrow path between hazelnut bushes,
where slim deer and lithe rabbits have paved a twisting way,
and I take note of messages left for my dimming eyes.
The oaks are solid and will remain as long as woods are wanted.
But take the leaf, now brown and crisp, and read between the lines.
-HJ Oct 17, 2010