In the beginning of autumn

In the beginning of autumn we feel but don’t 
perceive low angles of light early and late,
our gullible gaze rewarded proudly instead 
by the golden orange cast enticing promise 
woven without knowing throughout the wood.

Our mental machinery forgets the dozens of flowing
airborne silks carrying spiders each glowing 
and sailing on the breeze while we look instead 
to distant rows of backlit oval medallions of
vibrant acid green and glowing ember.

Unto us arrive vestigial half memories as coolness 
finds our skin raising hairs eagerly to greet the
drier and whimsical dancing air, inspiring
scores of crowded trees that encourage song to confront 
newly cracked and gently closed lips. 

In the beginning of autumn we find our cogs slowing
and solitary pilgrimage to root in places we once imagined,
where moss patches and lichen, no longer strangers, 
bloom from the stone singing green into the rhythms
of rusted needles humming beats of earthbound mast.

In This Together, 9/8/25