The sun, fatigued from steep ascents
and summer incandescence
reluctant now to rise, with modest climbs,
declining and retiring early
to calming rest for future seasons;
But on this morning sends a warming glow,
illuminates the forest dressed in Joseph’s coat:
shows maples’ blaze in heatless flames
emboldened by a cloudless aqua;
and birches sowing golden showers
in lazy floating fall;
yet other leaves translucent pale,
while some in futile desperation
cling still to hues of deeper green.
We’re far from mad cacophony
of man-made noise;
Here only gentler music sings
without composer or conductor:
The ostinato of a tumbling brook
in leisurely descent,
the rhythmic rustle of dry leaves
that telegraph unhurried steps,
a chipmunk’s sharp staccato chirp,
a raucous blue jay’s dissonance
joins avian aleatorics.
The forest too prepares for rest
its miracle rebirth foretold,
while one last autumn follows our
inexorably fading summer,
flaring in a brilliant nova
of subtly grand transcendent beauty
before the frosty final winter.
– Peter E Schmidt
