PRELUDE TO AUTUMN
By Gwen Austin
Copyright 1998
Something about this misty morn
tells me fall's coming;
a nebulous feeling
that summer's torn.
A cool Mt. Rainier whiff
in morning breeze;
a gray shroud
cloaks sunrise.
Gentle winds tickling
summer-dried leaves
hint at what's to come
when calendar reads 'autumn'.
Red squirrels chirp and scurry
to stash nuts and cones,
as mourning doves utter
their lonesome moans.
Spider's intricate orbs snare
tasty insects everywhere.
Caterpillars' tents abound,
fireweeds puff,
dandelions fluff.
Squirrel-snipped fir cones
fall like gentle rain.
Grasses bend and sway,
their seeds, swollen and ripe,
scatter, then nestle in earth's bosom,
to await a fine spring day.
Dusty-midnight-blue,
salal berries hang
heavy-weighted, waiting.
Softly-swaying cedar palms,
tips up-flipped,
sough in sighing breeze.
Where are the robins
and hummingbirds?
Rouge-tipped vine maple leaves
shiver when tickled
by cat's-paw breeze.
In spite of zephyrs
stirring the air,
a sense of waiting
precedes autumn's aria.
Plump blackberries glisten
in morning dew.
While picking them,
I stop to listen.
Faraway faint,
then closer still,
fall's Gabriel's horn—
honking geese in
precision-flying drill.
Photos by Eliot Porter, from "IN WILDNESS IS THE PRESERVATION OF THE WORLD"