Autumn’s Cold Calling

A hard freeze a week ago
and three days of stiff breeze
have left a skim of leaves on the lawn.

In the dull gray
of this day’s dawning,
the yellows and tans
of the big maple
at the bottom of the hill
have spilled over the bank
and line the old driveway.

Nearer the house,
a fluttering of browns
scatters across the ground,
a bit of grass passing up between
the curled edges.

The upper branches are bare,
the coming cold
working its way
down through the ledges of limbs
like age and worry
taking their early tolls
from what reaches nearest heaven.

Or, perhaps,
from what lifts itself the highest.

In the long thin
line of light
breaking briefly
through the passing front to the east,
I can feel the gray of my beard
bleeding into the rest of me.

I must make ready
for the coming seasons.

H. Arnett

About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Ark City, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-nine years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-eight grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
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