My backyard, a New England forest in autumn

Crimson, orange, yellow, brown, crisp

Slap across the face,

Broken by roaming creatures

Gathering the last of the wild huckleberries and acorns.

Trees bare and shiver in the breeze.

Branches dead as a graveyard

More leaves are in the creek and covering burrows than in the air.

Walking along the path, they catch in my sleeve.

 

The forest as quiet and motionless as a frozen lake

Only the sounds of an autumn’s eve

Woodpeckers, crows,

Bats: winged rodents with pulsating veins

Foxes, raccoons: the villains of the forest

Skunks, squirrels,

Chipmunks and mice: gnaw on twigs

A pack of silver wolves: howl at their cubs.

 

The translucent stream and pebbles sparkle in the light.

A deer approaches,

Tan and velvet, deep brown eyes so big my reflection is clear

Fearlessly it drinks and is gone.

Ahead on the trail is the sound of thunder,

My horses gallop through their meadow,

Whinny with glee.

Cabin: the oldest, diamond white, and always happy

Devious: the baby, black as the sun is bright, full of energy

Freedom: the stallion, tricolor, bad attitude, my favorite.

Climbing the stairs to the back porch,

I turn my head and smile as the white snow owl catches its prey.

 

 

Author's Note

Honesty is what I ask.