Author: Kay Foley

The cottonwood tree across the way stands
bright and shimmering in the morning sun
its yellow leaves shaking on their stems.
It is the tallest tree on the block, the very
thing that got its brother cut down.
It seems it blocked the sun from my
neighbor’s would-be garden.  
Her walnut tree was next to go.
She feared Death By Falling Walnut.
But I revere my walnut trees and
everything about them.  I would love
to have it said, In the end, that big old tree 
got the better of her.  As well it should.

This little poem wants to know
what I have in store for it.
But even I, pen in hand, cannot know
as poems do tend to go their own way
good or bad, the exalted ones seeming
to come fully formed and alive from nowhere
bad ones entirely from the poet’s dull brain.

Oh most favored month October!
Zooming recklessly by nearly spent, 
careening wildly through my town 
and on towards winter disliked by some, loved
despite its rigors by me for so many items
including even the early and longer darkness
puffed up mounds of covers on the bed
my dogs’ thick curly winter coats
my own circumspection and planning.
I’ll not go on for now it is colorful
October most favored month.
And oh how it zooms by!

With a sense of newly gained freedom 
I chose to loll and play the day away and
lie on my back on the sandy creekbank
observing the fine streaks of cloud across
a blue October sky watching with so much 
love this and then the other single leaf fall
from the sycamore spread above
hoping one might land right on me
touching down lightly with its gentle
leafy dignity.

I see now that goldenrod ends its colorful days
by turning grey just as we humans do.  The tall
stalks bend now with soft grey poufs that once
were brilliant yellow gathered and arranged
in challenging spears throughout the meadow.
So many tiny turns of season had gone 
unnoticed by me until this year in the autumn
of my life.  I suppose the poufs will fly about
in a strong cold wind come one blustery day
and that is what they would like to do.  But I 
will like my cozy house, the pouf of my own bed
and my hair to stay right here on my head.

Intuition tapped my delicate breastbone
and I (this time around) listened.  
Ah!  Here I stay open safe and grounded.
Thank you thank you thank you.

Others may know what I do not 
the habits of birds in October
the whereabouts of crickets
the comings and goings of the moon
even the patterns of the stars.
But I am content to leave the mysteries
along with my small imaginings 
of the whys and wherefores
my forever untested theories and
unanswered questions all lying loose
on the floor of my brain’s playroom
to be picked up and fiddled with
now and again for the sake and 
safekeeping of wonder.

We took a trail my dogs and I to a spot I’ve rarely been
and walking along oh yes it’s fine cedar trees and this and that.
And then.  We came into a maple grove the leaves a mix 
of fading green and autumn yellow, a bit of red.
Of themselves quite enough to delight
but in addition, too, as well, a wondrous 
understory of pawpaws mostly yellow
their long leaves big generous paddles 
draped over their stems and making
to my eye at least so many jaunty umbrellas
planted there in the ground amongst the many
fallen fall leaves spread below, the effect
of which was utterly (I can use no other word)
                            magical.
I shake my head and wonder just what 
I’ve done to deserve all of the treats and feasts 
laid before me and hope that whatever it is 
I keep on doing right. 

Where are you going on this cloudy day?
What will you see and do?
Who will kiss you on the cheek?
And who will call out to you?
 
Will troubles haunt you as you go?
Or will your dreams come true?
And will you sing a stalwart song
Of all you know to be true?
 
What do you carry in your heart?
What, I ask, and who?
When will you tell me all you feel
And all you ever knew?