An afternoon hidden away in my studio. Cool breezes and the sound of children laughing outside as this last week of summer vacation begins. This season of heat has been hard. I am athirst for autumn's relief.
.
I found a poem I wrote years ago...nutmeg and umber....fall.
I found a poem I wrote years ago...nutmeg and umber....fall.
.
Autumn's whispered feet drew near
her cloak of colors grand
dragging nutmeg fingers
through trees and sky and land
curling smoke from chimney sweeps
crisp breezes hold the morn
dying branches grace her wind
black and old and worn
the green of grass fades to brown
burnt umber hues the eve
the spice of apple lingers still
as Autumn takes her leave
Autumn's whispered feet drew near
her cloak of colors grand
dragging nutmeg fingers
through trees and sky and land
curling smoke from chimney sweeps
crisp breezes hold the morn
dying branches grace her wind
black and old and worn
the green of grass fades to brown
burnt umber hues the eve
the spice of apple lingers still
as Autumn takes her leave