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One whiff of autumn’s
cider-laced breath,
invokes an illusion
of crackling leaves
in
bonfire beauty,
licking blotter soaked skies
of its inky cursive
and savoring eerie whispers,
diluted by howling
winds,
until the resonance
tumbles its rhythm
past purple-jade horizons.
Then on through wavering orchards,
ripe
with Eden apples,
does it blow its whirling dance,
tripping the light with ruby ladies,
dangling their temptations,
freely
on hording branches,
broadening crooked fingers
down into ghostly cornfields.
Deep within its shaded sway,
chamois-dipped
stalks withered
devoid from harvest gleaning,
now its unpopped overflow crackles
in leaning Pisa silos
and barnyard
red lofts
as October’s wispy scarecrow
frolics in his moonstruck mayhem,
across fiery sunsets,
blending
its persimmon array
with the tumbling rush
of chameleon leaves,
windswept by Boreas’ jovial
hiccupped guffaw,
observing
the golden shafts
of animated straw,
catch the midnight magic
to moondance with the horsemen
in Sleepy Hollows
of
pumpkin patch bewitchery!
©2005 c.t. gross
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