|© Public Domain|
Something Welcome This Way Comes
In the sodden morning, autumn’s musty breath
Whistles down the lane, rattling the cottonwoods,
Generating expectant whispers high up among
And all along their loosely ordered ranks.
Expectancy hangs like the Spanish moss
Back home in Texas and Louisiana.
Here in the North Country the seasons wear
The passing of time like a pampered fashion plate.
Each season’s turning sends a new and bitter wind
Rattling across the treetops, each year a little colder
Than the last; more fraught with gray, less brightly colored
Less welcoming than in seasons gone before.
And on the porch we sit and note the subtle changes,
Catch the scent that’s carried on the breezes,
Mark the signs engraved against the dismal Earth and sky
That speak of something welcome this way coming.
© 2016 by Tom King