Categories
Poetry

Late October

I love hearing the trees talk
sometimes the high branches speak
            and the low branches listen
sometimes the east whispers to the west                  which gives silence in response
sometimes they all chatter at once
            I lie in the sun, watching, listening

  I dread the coming winter’s quiet
        absent leafy voices,
              instead violent creaks
disturb the silence,   as do
              small explosions,
breaking branches, piercing snow
        crunching, snapping
              deadened, hollowed,
                     muffled, no water flows
I wish that it would not come soon
  but winter’s here in just one moon