Voices on the Wind
Voices in the Garden
Patience of the Old
When autumn colors tip the
ends of summerís emerald leaves,
the magic of photosynthesis
appears. Sunís energy mysteriously
converted to nutrition and oxygen
has depleted the green chemical
Slowly the pigments hidden behind
deep greens emerge in all their
splendor beginning with leaves
closest to sunlight and my eyes.
As each day progresses toward the
nakedness of winter, I watch and
With the wisdom of an aged woman
I gaze in wonder at the gnarled
sky-reaching limbs of towering
sycamores and oaks, the bouquet arms
of the maples, and fluttering twigs of
dogwoods and red buds.
Dressed for a golden autumn dance
the branches sway rhythmically to
approaching winter winds waiting
for the stroke of midnight when
the party ends with stinging ice
and cold. Until the cloak of sparkling
snow graces their bare limbs, I wait.
With the patience of the old I watch
as autumnís gilded display metamorphoses
into winter black and white.