In the park
in the season of no name
greens waver
the high grass
restless, uncertain
twists
as a wistful air plays
against its parchment edges
sighing
a sepia wash hovers
over the letting-go
but
here and there
a regal smear
of purple.
More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
September 5, 2016 at 12:15 pm
What lovely, expressive words you’ve written! I especially like “the season of no name”, not quite summer nor fall. I’ve been noticing the dried parchment edges, but will be more appreciative of the regal smears of purple.
September 5, 2016 at 1:37 pm
Thank you, Bonny! So good to find you here! I was completely smitten by those purples almost hidden in the grasses — Mother Nature sure knows a thing or two about color.
September 6, 2016 at 4:06 pm
Sometimes I cheat. I go back and re-write. I did on this one since you first saw it. Over and over, as a matter of fact. I wanted to eliminate the word “whisper” because I realized I’d used it in another piece about autumn. I’m sure you know the folly of trying to change just one word — the challenge was on! I continue to arm-wrestle with this. I don’t know yet which of us will win.