Sun cast the Sound in silver,

low slanted light skimming

off the water, gleaming

like vast ornamental plates

beset with wooded islands

more fallen from heaven

than raised by the sea.

I am watching, gathering

images like late apples

left behind by crows,

storing vision

for the long winter night.

The air grows still

with silent pressure urging

the weight of discovery,

inner ear trembled

by the sound of night;

everything dark, suggestive

of hidden life poised to emerge,

frightening yes, but who we are

beneath the noise and uncertainty.

Driving through the rough hewn gate

past the carved wooden sign

and down the gravel lane,

I found the broad russet hay field

lifted into autumn maple

or perhaps the land was rising up

to greet me like an old friend —

every tree and trembling fern

a voice in the slanted sunlight;

the rubbed bronze earth

reaching out with a song.

The rain came softly

in velvety mist

falling on the wet turf

and our Saturday shoulders

as we watched the match

one grandson streaking forward

another beside me

enjoying the gray clouds

and steady blanket of moisture

no umbrella or parka for him

where home feels like rain

and the way we stand together

heads lifted to the gift

the squish of our rain soaked shoes

sounding in the green grass of autumn.

The season is turning

with the aroma of fall;

Gaia exhales and the scent

of leaves and open earth

fill the air with her essence.

The thud of boots

and grinding wheels

obscure the delicacy

of her rising

yet even the timid

take heart in autumn

letting go like trees

in the winds of October.