my feet touch the earth
boots gathering leaf dust
as I go forward at dusk
it’s different here
I am filled with the scent of autumn sun on dying leaves
and watch the sentinel trees let go of their fronds
as the wind skirts through dry branches
plucking the last vestiges of summer’s finery
robed now in muted hues of brown, orange, yellow
I see them dance in the air
and fall where they may
//
the stone mausoleum stands firm in the early November chill
tidy grey cement with a wrought iron door
behind it permanent silence
I wonder if it’s warm inside
it doesn’t matter, but
who is the chair for?
I glance up at the Japanese maple in full autumn red
standing guard
the sun sinks low at this time of day
and rays are caught in the burning foliage of the tree
before they fall to the ground to rest
like the graves below.
the sagacious bee 