Another cool morning. Autumn’s in the air, I say to myself, but it’s really just a cricket chirping in the corner of the garden.

1 Comment

  1. DREAD

    Shrugging this cool morning’s dread
    is as good as some calming camomile tea:
    must be some fall breeze breaking through
    the corridor of elms fencing the woods in.

    Will autumn repaint all this raw sienna
    visited upon this valley by fierce sunshine?
    How quickly will all this verdance go?
    A tardy spring rushed a stampede of green.

    Quite like the unbridled sprint of a boy
    whistling for wind to buoy his kite beyond
    the bourn, this gallop toward dreaded days
    of dying and death is a grown man’s dash

    through bivouacs of war. Nothing will last:
    Rainbow palettes on treetops turn grey
    before the pall of winter inters carrion
    of happy seasons. Or is it just crickets chirping?

    —Albert B. Casuga

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