What Lies Beyond the Tree Line

Cresting the hill on route 26,
you see your town, or at least
the scar of the quarry that defines your town
from a distance.

It is fall. Autumn. And the leaves are near
peak color. A few more days
and the mountains around you
will be dazzling, a brief magic

before the march of time and wind
and storms will strip the leaves
in preparation for winter.
A cold change of season,

but not without its own virtues,
not least of which is a clarity of cold air
and the ability to see what lies beyond
the tree line.

About this poem

About the change from fall to winter. About the changes in life, where sometimes the times of most confusion lead to the clearest clarity. Where sometimes the changes in seasons prepare us for something new and wonderful. Poetry is never about one thing.

The picture was taken just over the border of New York, not far from my house. The quarry you see in the distance is where my house lives.

Tom