Days and thoughts turning to autumn

As the days of the calendar fall away announcing the approach of autumn, my thoughts turn to the sights, sounds and smells of my favorite season. Since my childhood I've looked forward to the leaves ripening like fruit and releasing their hold on the branches; falling in twisted paths toward the ground that they will feed with decomposition.

I love the season's steady rains: the water glistening on the fiery colored leaves that blanket the ground and brighten the gray skies overhead; the pit-a-pat of the drops drumming the earth; the awakened aroma of damp decay. It is a time marked by sensory reminders of Nature's cycling toward death. There is a sadness in that imminent demise, but it is tempered by the hope of inevitable renewal and rebirth.

I dug out this old poem of mine to salute the coming of the season.

I listen to the Fall
by Francis C. Scudellari

I listen to the Fall;
alone, walking.
Walk through ...

Orange-yellow murmurs,
red and brown sighs,
... settling.

The autumnal voices,
many, muted,
I hear ...

Rhythmic rain chants,
Gray, gusted groans,
Wilting whispers.

The Earth speaks soft response,
... mother-echoes,
... welcomes.

Draws cold children to her
black soil,
nurtured embrace.

I hear her sounds
without language

I sense emotion
unexplained.

Remain outside,
both thought and dream.

Now under-ripe,
too proud, unlearned.

One day, understanding,
the words will come.

Then joy, ...
To join my voice with hers

Calling others
... homeward