Autumn Garden

(Late morning)

    Sitting low in an Adirondack chair,
        the pine boards damp with rain soak
    Sun pours down over the brim of a herringbone hat,
        spills over pages of a book,
            running down my leg
    A cold gust parts legions of tall, fading bee balm, budleia, rosehips
        Tickles windchimes
            Stirs grasses
                Combs through pine woods
                    Branches twist crackle hush like rainsticks
    Undulation roar of trees~brush~grass~ vines
        A deep cluster of notes from Cage's piano
            Twanging biwa strung from Takemitsu's core

    The season is unfolding
    Letting fly her long scarf.
    Counting coils of rouge ~

©2007 Jonathan Blakeslee