21 September 2009--Last (official) Day of Summer

                         Brief Glory

Doomed leaves blaze

With desperate color

As an icy wind nips

Their frangible stems.

Already, some are slipping silently

Down the sharp-edged air,

Tracing slow, irregular circles,

Settling with a sigh

On the yellowing grass.

Tomorrow is the official beginning of autumn. I hate to see summer go, especially since she only arrived here around the second week of August, and seems to want to linger. Autumn, however, is my next-favorite season, so I do welcome her, only regretting that she foretells the inevitable onslaught of winter, my least-favorite season. Actually, the only thing I really hate about our harsh Québec winters is the darkness of the compacted days. The leaves and acorns on the right were found around my apartment building today. The leaves on the left are stamped and embossed. The arrowhead was found years ago by one of my sons in our then-backyard. 

The layout is not as good as I wanted it to be, but that's the fault of Rascal and Fripon. They not only love  to chase leaves but to eat them. When I started arranging the leaves, they were at my elbow,  sniffing and trying to claw one out of the arrangement. While I was aiming the camera, one  would run  away with a leaf in his mouth as if it were prey. As I chased him, the other took advantage of my distraction to nab one for himself. The leaf at top right bears a jagged edge as evidence of capture. Finally, I managed to make a hasty arrangement and photograph it.  

Soon, I’ll hear geese overhead calling me to follow them south for the winter.

                                              

                                                            Summer’s End

     

Geese v-lining south

Noisely trumpet triumph;

Feathered thieves are

Stealing summer.

 

 The rocks and driftwood in the picture on the right were found in Nova Scotia and Québec years ago. Note the split-open rock with the orange center. There's also a piece of petrified tree. The Champagne cork? Hmmm! Perhaps a romantically-inclined couple toasted their love on a rocky beach somewhere.

All rights reserved for the two poems.