Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

Like fire-drops dripping from trees when rain is done Like orange glow of sunset at break of day Or yellow sun awakening the spring Green leaves have changed and stand against blue sky Arrayed for indigo of death or else Sweet violet, sweetly waiting into life Still seasons turn Again.

Gold has that effect, shining brighter than trust, calling to you. Pale edges wavered, as if a breeze made them stir. Sunshine deserted him. Was this a dream, a frightened creature maybe seeking escape? He reached for it, touched, gentled, stroked, desired. Last blossom of summer. The bluebird ate it.

Puppies bounced through hedgerows while leaves turned into snow. Small legs raced fast through mounded white. And pups got stuck. Mom clambered through hedgerows while leaves squelched into mush. She rescued pups and set them back on paws. Her feet sank deep in slippery sleet-sodden mulch, white sauce on brown.

It happened in a moment. Bright sky turned dark. Shadows descended over the scene leaving red on the ground. “Vampire” shrieked the dream. It happened in a moment. Sun turned to rain—day to night. Red leaves fell down but when the light returned, heavenly gold still clung to trees.

Ah, the gentle sound of leaf-blowers in the fall; mulching machines chew limbs from trees while lonely lawnmowers, last of their tribe, scythe down the summer’s grass. Sunshine brings out the busy in us. But skies grow dark, night-eyes spark bright, and rustling creatures whisper autumn’s terrors as they pass.

The moment before it rained The ground was dry. The sky threatened with gray but I Was kneeling in my memories Pulling weeds. The future drenched me. The moment before witches Flew the sky My Halloween was memories too Of twigs and paper hats But dire Adulthood wrenched me back.

An orange moon for fall; brown leaves on the ground; golden sunsets crowning russet cloud-feathers of sky… Squirrels, red and gray, hunt through the day; cats chase and play; then fierce coyotes conquer fearsome night. A squirrel-tail, cats-paw on dull green grass. Ghosts howl to orange moon and rainbows pass.

Summer’s over. The fair has gone. The field lies empty and bare. See, here are the treads of the merry-go-round, the dents from its wheels and its stands in the faded grass. Here’s where the door to the mirror-maze stood. Here’s the candy Sam dropped on the ground. D’you remember that? And here; I’m following footsteps now. He’s where Sam stopped; you see how the earth’s trodden down? Here’s where he found an image so entrancing he couldn’t move on—wonder what it was. And here? The footsteps end. Sam never came back and night’s falling. I’m sorry. We’re trapped.