The Sounds of Autumn Turnings

-- a lone loon hooting, short and sharp,

or two, young ones lingering here,

long wails echoing back, “I

am still here … Me, too”

-- a soft wind, cool, blowing off the lake,

a gentle shaking of tree tops, swaying,

pushing back the clouds, the rattle of leaves

holding on, “one more day, one more day.”

-- and the skittering of dry leaves, too,

so soon gone, blown across the yard, scraping

the walkway, a clatter and rustle below

my feet, setting free summer, summer letting go.

-- the caress of leaves fallen, a rhythmic

raking, pulling leaves and grass clippings

forward to pile, an obligation, a chore, but

“is it necessary,” hastening change?

-- and a new sound of summer silence, gone

the engines’ roar, the screams of youth returned

to school, the added traffic of summer guests,

gone themselves, silence left behind in their leaving.

-- and the beating of our hearts, soft, settling in,

the rhythms of our lives changing, one season

to another, reflections on the water’s expanse

the reflections of our souls growing older,

wiser, too, becoming more than ourselves,

our own sound loud in the autumn of our lives,

holding on, “one more day, one more season.”