Tracing November: Untitled

It’s a strange courage
you give me, ancient star:

With the autumn field now hushed and desolate
The couple walked with a new awareness
Of something open that had been closed
A seasonal shift

And as they walked to rest on the park bench
A balmy agent hovered in the air
Like halos
Hung sideways
Invisible to the eye but obtruding their line of sight

A trace: something absent but present.

The field, now humming with a force greater than their wildest youth,
Was pregnant, jolly and screaming in waves rushing over the grass

Brittle leaves now moving to this almost in trance
Little fallen white petals hung in the air
Big green apples shone high above the trees
The air no longer containing any dull near-winter crispiness

Her hair lightly tousling with buoyancy
The creek was now turned to river, its entrance like
A force-field of change bouncing their energy into its current.

Above the tree line he could make out the end of this vision
A tiny star off in the distance shined alone
The light afforded a parting vision
Behind them all the patterns and battles
Of the woods were falling
The owls were making a roost
She rested his head in his

Lowering her wind-blown hair they sat on that park bench
Waiting for the outlaws to gather on the ledge before nightfall
Indulged with the promise of another chimera,
or an owl pushing the crest of Minerva’s back towards the river.

– Daniel Tutt, November 2010


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