Autumn Breeze

A breeze blooms beyond the hill
October leaves, dry, applauding still,
starting as a murmur, a chuchotement*, distant,
growing to crescendo under big tree tent,
this oak that stands, stately here.
Before, around, all was still.
Here, Mother Earth is slowly balding.
The crickets rub their thighs
and produce a rasping round
that they sing over and again
while the toads and frogs peep in
to join in the music of the season.
The breeze continues on its way
meandering along the valley
that the creek has cut with time
through red clay and rock inclined
in this night of autumn time.

* chuchotement: French for "a whispering"


Copyright 16 October 2005 by Ron Hudson.

Categories: poetry Autumn+Breeze North+Carolina autumn