For This Passing Season

 Aby Mark Bonne

Aby Mark Bonne

Leaves lie everywhere
and still they fall as though
the trees have an infinite supply
But you & I know better
The last leaf must die

What is now a cascade
of outrageous fall colors
was recently but an emerald sea
in whose shim’ring shades
birds & squirrels played

Once the wind has died
only the bones will remain
skeletons stripped bare of flesh
to be pruned in the winter
by shears of ice & snow

All this is about hope
A promise that our dying
is only for this passing season
I strain to feel the buds
under the aching bark

“Let us learn to appreciate there will be times when the trees will be bare,
and look forward to the time when we may pick the fruit.” ~ Anton Chekhov


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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3 Responses to For This Passing Season

  1. Maureen says:

    ‘For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands eternal in the heavens…so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life’

    Liked by 1 person

  2. John says:

    Hope, indeed, yet beauty can be found in any season if we live long enough. Hope is beauty. Thank you, Peter.

    Liked by 1 person

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