The Grapevine Art & Soul Salon

PRESENTATIONS: DIANNE SEAMAN

Autumn

Small red leaves
Autumn's rose petals
stain the ground.
Earthbound sun.

Autumn's Lament

Deep down, warm garden beds turn into cool dankness.
Seasonal whirls scoop out from the inside
before the outward signals of change appear
mournful of a season passing.

The seasons in a life
(even hot, dry ones that never caused a moment's pleasure)
are grieved when they pass, for change resembles death.
Something is gone
even if one is better off for the passing.
It's the sense of the irretrievable that pricks our sensibilities.
Something is plucked from us forever.
"Good Riddance," we should say.

How to let go and progress into unfamiliar lands
of unpredictable winds ....
We know not from this point into what forms
these winds will whittle us
yet we must stand bravely upon the craggy summit
letting its force banter us about
allowing all surfaces to be exposed
yielding to the alteration and change.
NO HIDING.

The crescent moon sinks into the hills
as the wind dies down
and soon we will descend to face another term
in yet another form
after having entered the storm's peaceful eye
for an interim of stillness.