Deciduous Doxology

I watched The Poconos wake up this morning.
Out the door at five-thirty,
and across the Gap by six,
I was there when they started their day.

The Maples of Broad Street

The maples of Broad Street
have ceased to be tame,
The maples of Broad Street
are shaking their manes

In His Time

Every year I marvel more and more at how long it takes for the Aster and the Goldenrod to bloom. Think back to when you saw your first blossom of Spring. Maybe it was a Crocus against your house, or perhaps you spied Snowdrops in Central Park. But now, in the damp of an autumn

The Bald Man and the Ash Tree

Each head now dons its winter cap, The forest drops its leaves. The bald man and the ash tree Blend in and feel at ease. November 18, 2020

Gray November

Like the first few flakes of snowOn the leaves of rusty brownAre the first gray hairs to showIn the beard beneath my frown.Snow is “early” in November,And I feel too young for gray—But then again I can’t remember What my face felt like clean shaved.One by one the flakes compoundAnd still Fall’s rustling with a hushWhile

The Aster and the Goldenrod

I asked the crimson Sassafras For a mittened helping hand. “I must bring autumn home,” I said To the yellow Maidenhair. But the Sassafras just smiled and sighed That he had other plans. And that Ginkgo giggled down the lane And left my basket bare. … I hiked the blazing mountains ‘Neath the Maples’ ring