Autumn is a nostalgic time for me. I have more than eighty autumns committed to memory--they cover a lifetime from childhood’s innocent freshness to ripe maturity’s reflections.
This season reflects my emotions—bright and high-spirited with flashing color, yet somber with falling leaves tossed in the wind and the frost and chill of the pending approach of winter.
Autumn was the happy season of my marriage over sixty years ago.
Autumn was the poignant season sixteen years ago when my husband left so quietly and unexpectedly for his heavenly reward. God’s call to him came in the “season of the falling leaf.”
I dedicate the second poem to Ted, my husband for forty-six years, father of our four wonderful sons of whom he was so proud, grandfather of ten precious grandchildren, many of whom he never met, great-grandfather of six, all of whom he did not meet.
bluffing me, mocking me
with teasing, wistful
of high July
and summer fun
are tossed on the run
but mixed with
casting a chill
as winter steals
with cold appeals
into November's prime.
In the season of the falling leaf
my falling tears splash hot
upon my lonely pillow
in the dark night of my quiet grief
as I reminisce for what might have been
but can no longer be:
I bow to God’s decree.
Nevertheless—I can’t suppress
the tears from the depths of me
that flow silently
from a heart severed from my love
like the autumn leaf turned brown
detached from tree-life
floats to the ground without a sound.