Seasons change in the Midwest

I hate the Midwestern winter with its subzero temperatures and glassy slick pavement. But I adore the changing seasons and this fall has been particularly lovely (or maybe I just forget the mind-numbing beauty of the leaves from year to year). In an attempt to document this transient splendor, I took some photos this morning, some of which are here along with a poem that seemed to fit.

Autumn 

by Mary Hamrick

Autumn is like an old book:

Marred spines turn mean yellow,

staples rust red-orange.

Every stained page is stressed

by a splat of color. Rough-red,

like an old tavern,

we become hungry birds

and prepare for fall.

Shape and shadow are candied citron

as lanterns turn bitter yellow. Autumn

is a red fox, a goblet filled with dark wine,

a hot chilli pepper with smoky eyes.

Pressed leaves take in the colors

of seafood paella and saffron; these leaves

are like death, climaxing with a smile.

Autumn: Her dress is a net of mussels;

dark shelled, it covers up

summer’s weatherbeaten body.

So pull out your boots

and stand on an aged, wood floor

like an evergreen.

By the way, thanks everybody for the kind words and concern about my fall. The stitches came out Monday and my face is almost back to normal. It's amazing -- our human ability to heal!