Autumn Falling
Gray wings of November
wait in the shadows
and beyond the eternity
of stasis those of us caught
in the north know.
The river a dark vein
taking homage
from bowing willows
dragging their golden hair
stippling the dark flowing.
On the ridge the colors of
perfection waver
an Impressionist painting
against a background
of pure empty blue.
I have never been
so beautiful
nor felt so keenly
nor tasted the acrid smoke
that carries on the wind.
– helen ruggieri