A celebration


The other day

a falling leaf was echoing

the looming sound

of autumn’s drum

just as the year spiraled  inward

to take a deep and youthful breath

for darker sequences to come.


This time of yours,

the realm of warmth

and wanton sun

unfurls unruly and untamed

in a reversed and magic run.


It is a time to store

the seeds of everything

for later birth

and feast your eye,

your mouth, your matter

on all that’s fruit of any kind

by our Goddess of the Earth.


And you seem

to have never grown tired

and never grown old

and never grown stale

on these repeated occasions

when the world’s of ripe gold

because your youth lies in your soul,

your stories that you weave without a stop,

my friend with eyes of northern blue,

from your beloved mountaintop.


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