The Golden Season
Dog Days are duly done, now
and the air is fragrant
with the scent of aster and Joe Pye and goldenrod
scattered in fields like patches sewn
in Mother Nature’s autumn quilt- the one she brings out
for company- we being Her guests of honor.
The Light spills longer, shadow play illuminates all
in scintillating scores of gold, innumerable
shades and hues and tones, this.
We rejoice, harvest the fruits of April’s seeds,
June’s tending, July’s thinning.
Drinking the air and swimming in Light-
Bathing in the ochroid afterglow, basking in warmth-
as cats in the sun, flexing our claws, lazily, purring.
The auric essence flows in goodwill, coats everything,
honey as a balm for our souls,
Flax as tonic of our spirits- painted on our bodies
by viburnum’s burning hand.
Now is the time of joy, now the season of splendour-
silver maple’s blood spotted lemon, sugar maple’s tangerine,
red oak’s crimson tides, undulating across the hills-
aspen’s delicate wisp; acorns rolling underfoot,
hickory melting on the tongue, Monarchs taking wing
and you, here, to take it all in with me.
Nothing this good can stay, so proclaims Frost- but I say,
“Do let’s try!”- come run with me and play,
outside, while caramel afternoons prevail- this heart
needs reprieve from its cycle of desuetude, so enjoy,
October’s sapphire and wheat days while they last,
and make me believe, once more…
That gold can last forever, and that the dazzling hues
of autumn will be captured in your memory as the color
of my hair, and I’ll hold onto October skies in your gaze,
while the grasshoppers wind down, dew burdens the grass,
and berries paint the earth, scarlet, the very shade of
my growing desire for you.
Help me trust that gold can stay, and make me feel
I deserve to be overwhelmed in something
so beautiful as the golden season in New England,
just, for once, letting it all surround me in clouds, in swathes
of spectral, shimmering, fiery evening glow-
Wrap me in that quilt of flowers and bring the harvest to my door.