Melancholy’s in the air; sweet sadness,
like a Richard Thompson song.
Thimble berries, ripe for picking;
acorns on the ground.
Clouds sail in, this late August morning,
like ships to another land.
That song sings in my head and heart now; 
stuck, swirling ‘round and ‘round.

Autumn seeps in, like a lazy fog bank
cloaking hillsides, and river’s edge.
Echinacea’s petals point down to stems now, 
laid flat, like ears of some purple hound dog.
Centers exposed like so many noses, lifted up to sniff the air. 
These flowers seem umbrellas turned inside-out now, 
or badminton birdies batted, then landed on the ground.

Age claws in, quietly, like a bird nest robber,
fur-coated, sharp-toothed, stealing away unprotected youth. 
We’ve danced and danced ’til feet drag on the ground.
Turns out, marionette strings control our movements;
twirl things upside-down. As blue Earth turns toward winter,
will anything, like song? like love? be enough to save us; 
be enough to turn the world around?
                        

I went for a walk, and there
were the clouds. Finessed on the sky, 
like paint layered on canvas. Stroked 
in soft colors; calm; beautiful. Grey, white, 
like the feathers on some graceful bird.
Today’s walk is quiet, just one crow; a lone plane. 
The trees half turned toward Autumn; 
some leaves colored, some fallen.

Near the library, I see a friend out walking with her dog.
We exchange stories of hardship. Her grandson, back to hospital
for stem cell grafts. My parents, one gone in June; 
we’ll be spreading his ashes on a mountain top soon. The other, 
my Mother, had taken a fall. Not severe, but it brought great fear.

As her dog settles down from excited greetings to cuddles,
Linda and I consider how to cope…with stress, with worries, 
with sadness.
At times, I say, it all shrinks down to noticing the clouds, 
and carrying that with you. Linda agrees. Finding solace in small 
daily moments of beauty is, at times, all we can do.

Not asking for more. 
Finding amazement in less. 
Letting that be a place of rest; of hope.
Color of sky; shape of leaf; wind on skin; 
small steady blessings.

On the way home, I make sure 
to walk past the river, and check for geese.