The Recessional
Last-minute bees, this heated October afternoon,
Perhaps the last warm day for months,
Are mindlessly busy, gathering the rest of the nectar
From every available flower yet growing
And delayed, tantalizingly, in its imminent letting go.
Each intransigent tree and plant in this retreat —
Osage oranges, ginkgoes, pin oaks, Japanese maples,
Feather celosias, rose of Sharons, chrysanthemums,
Autumn crocuses, caladiums, Egyptian star flowers,
Water lilies, arrowheads, papyrus sedges —
Knows, by heart and smell and terrestrial breath,
The telltale whispering crispness lifting its spirit,
The seasonal confluence it's reached,
Where finish and beginning are indistinguishable —
Fall and summer swaying in the same breeze.
Another mere spectator to this recessional,
I too sense, with regret, the inevitable evanescence
Settling into the days just ahead, rushing toward us.
Like the flora, I know that the sowing and winnowing
Are necessary destinations, stressful, blessed incarnations.
10/04/09 - (2)
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