|At the Moulin Seignurial, Pointe-du-Lac, QC, walking thru woods|
Inching toward Autumn
The other day, early in the morning, I heard this sound coming from outside.
Yesterday evening, I heard it again.
The geese are leaving?!! Already?!!
Do they smell winter coming ... ALREADY?
It was the neighbor guy, in the house below ours,
out in the yard,
practicing his hunting calls.
To shoot them noisy honkers out of the sky I guess.
And probably eat them.
(And no, you can't warn them.)
Sounds that bring joy to some
but for different reasons.
"Old friends passing by again!"
(I run forth, rushing to see.)
"Ready-aim-fire!" anticipates the future bush hider,
gun cocked and ready, salivating with glee.
Come now, be real. Life, death ... change - everything to its season
no rhyme no reason. No great big deal. Just the way it is. But look -
The first leaves are turning - red first then brown,
a few yellows leap tentatively forth here and there.
Rustle of the wind, chill in the air. So be aware:
geese going south means bring out the wool socks
big pluffy sweaters.
Brilliant Reds, Yellows, ORANGE! Bring it on!!
then the trees they'll disrobe and
frost'll crunchify the lawn.
I imagine a fireplace exuding toasty warmth
(wishing I had one).
Think hot chocolate
familiar sweeping white blankets of snow
the quiet darkness of evenings too soon there -
my anchor my home.
(Is that a smile I feel slowly
unleashing itself 'cross my face?)