Set aside
books and camera.
Enter pine and
maple woods where
meadow eases into
autumn’s fire-leaf
and birdwing canopy.
There is wildness
in the robin, a
divinity where
no one stands to
taste wild apple or
to hear the distant
chainsaw’s growl.
Each entry beckons
under changing sky.
Set aside books
and camera. Know
how thorns progress
to pine, how
words and photographs
revert to sources
like the leaves to
an upland’s healing.
Rivertop Rambles 
Look at you, getting all poetic. And look at the colors up north! Hey, I love that conclusion. Too many people see falling leaves as the sign of oncoming death and winter. I like the idea of upland healing. It’s a cycle after all. Thanks for this!
It all came on suddenly, as if a truth would be told, the leaves tossing themselves off, and with hundreds of migrating robins voicing it nervously, move on, it’s all OK. There’s healing in the process. Thank you dad poet!
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