My love is home from the Pacific. Summer has given way to the fringe of fall, and he notices so many changes that I did not see. When he left, it was blistering hot, and last night we sat on the porch and there was a slight chill in the air.
Rain was scarce this summer, but I still mowed our lawn more than he did with all the travel that took up most of his summer. That makes me feel guilty, somehow. I think he needs what I call 'lawn therapy' more than I. His world is so consumed with precision and order that to see him riding aimlessly back and forth, from the river to the house, does my heart good.
The forest will be giving up its secrets soon with the falling of the leaves. And I will enjoy it all, because fall is my favorite time of year.
And it brings back a poem that I constructed from fragments of something I read a long time ago, plus my own words, dedicated to my sons, when they were small.
Who painted that leaf, they wanted to know,
My sunburned boys with eyes aglow.
Who painted that leaf, once green, instead
And painted it bright with colours red.
And their eyes grew wide, with wonder light,
As I told a tale of frosty night.
And the coming on of fall's cool haze,
Unfamiliar to their sun-same days.
PHOTOS/POEM©pegyates2010
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