Poem: First Colors

First Colors

The first colors of fall have begun to creep in.
No matter that autumn is weeks away,
cool mornings have begun.
The stifling heat becoming less prevalent,
and if you look, you see them:
Leaves, once rich and green. are dry now.
crackly from August drought,
and changing.

You sit on the side of the road.
just sit. Traffic passes by in a blur,
background noise.
You are tuned in to the whisper of the stream.
A constant. Letting go. Letting the darkness in you
slither down with the rushing water.
Briefly, you wonder where the water goes.
What takes on the darkness you shed?
And how, oh how, does it survive
not only your own darkness,
but that of a whole world in pain?

You sit. You breathe in. You breathe out.
Steady yourself.
Empty yourself.
It takes time.
You are it seems, too full
of things that are not yours.
It takes time
to become yourself,
the past, the future,
shed like a tired season, ready for the new.

About this poem.

If you look carefully, you can see a few of the leaves starting to change here in Vermont. Not quite splashes of color, they are more subversive, like the color is trying to seduce you while you are not looking.

There are worse things.

Tom

PS: The picture was taken down the road, in West Rupert, VT.

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