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The space between tree branches and The thing the moon told me
Two poems to mark the changing of the season
Today feels like the right time for a poetry drop. The changing of the season from Summer’s lush, leafy extravagance into the glorious flame of Fall is poetic.
My driveway is no longer made of bricks but walnuts. Cars that drive the lane set off a series of pops as the fallen green shells burst under tires.
In the mornings I walk to the sounds of birds summoning strength to make the long flight to warmer climes.
The first signs of yellow, red, orange brush the tree lines in southern Ontario.
I take it all in.
Wherever you are in the world, I hope you can enjoy the natural beauty around you and experience the vitality of the outdoors.
To mark the changing seasons, here are two poems from my archive that landed on the page after walks outside.
I hope you enjoy them.
The space between tree branches
if everything was
as beautiful as the space
between tree branches
outstretched arms bare
lifted to the unreachable
this would not mean dormancy
only the promise of colour
into the passing seasons of life
The thing the moon told me
I started at my shadow as I walked
alone tonight out on the path that
stretches then curves around the
I thought animal as the
shadow jumped into the path
in front of me.
What could it have been, a rabbit?
A small fox? And still I jumped.
My mind paced out its own path
much more rapidly than my
footsteps, chasing and distracted
with intangible concepts
like love like fidelity, things just out of
reach when Oh! The moon.
A turn on the path brought me out from under the
cover of trees. Startled again. Not with fright but
At this palimpsest of night,
stroked with too much paint the
moon full and cupped in the
pregnant sky wrapped in white
and gray clouds.
I stopped. My breath. My
movement. My quest to reach.
Simply watched the sky.
There is so much beauty in this world I will never see.