My foot fell hushed upon a wood-ward path

Through tilting trees

Losing leaves

In the same manner as every year past

 

Blushing pale, Aspen yellow

Also maple red

From overhead

Fall into place on the wooded ground below

 

“What an uncommon sight,” I whisper

To no one but me

Or perhaps to the tree

Readying herself for winter

 

Such a peculiar fabric sewn

On a patchwork arbor

Full of color

In my woodland autumn home

 

anthony forrest