Beach Writer in the Rocky Mountains
Beach Writer in the Rocky Mountains
Alice M. Batzel
Published Author, Playwright,
Journalist, Poet
RECEIVING AUTUMN
by Alice M. Batzel
Autumn came and quietly sat beside me.
I spent a bit of time with her,
and so enjoyed her company.
We never spoke a word,
but what a rich connection we had,
just she and I.
She shared with me a panorama of colors
beyond any artist's palette, hues light and dark,
vibrant and soft: burgundy, burnt sienna,
saffron yellow, and rusted orange,
a feast of nature's paintbrush before my eyes.
I inhaled the cold evening and watched leaves
of crimson and gold gently fall from branches.
The breeze enticed them to dance.
We sat in silence, Autumn and I.
She gifted me a meditative communion.
The scent of nearby harvest apples tickled my nose.
A chilly wind kicked the leaves about my feet
and whistled in my ears.
The sun slowly dropped below the horizon
withdrawing its warmth, and I shivered.
Somewhere in the evening air, I thought I heard a whisper,
"Remember me, dear friend, I'll soon be gone."
I silently promised, "I'll watch for you again next year.
Your memory blazes within me, a grand gift like no other.”
* * * * * * * * * *
copyright 2019 - all rights reserved by author
* * * * * * * * * *
published 2019 - Willow Park Press
SPIRALS
A Collection Of Poetry & Prose From Utah's Northern Edge
RECEIVING AUTUMN
by Alice M. Batzel
Autumn came and quietly sat beside me.
I spent a bit of time with her,
and so enjoyed her company.
We never spoke a word,
but what a rich connection we had,
just she and I.
She shared with me a panorama of colors
beyond any artist's palette, hues light and dark,
vibrant and soft: burgundy, burnt sienna,
saffron yellow, and rusted orange,
a feast of nature's paintbrush before my eyes.
I inhaled the cold evening and watched leaves
of crimson and gold gently fall from branches.
The breeze enticed them to dance.
We sat in silence, Autumn and I.
She gifted me a meditative communion.
The scent of nearby harvest apples tickled my nose.
A chilly wind kicked the leaves about my feet
and whistled in my ears.
The sun slowly dropped below the horizon
withdrawing its warmth, and I shivered.
Somewhere in the evening air, I thought I heard a whisper,
"Remember me, dear friend, I'll soon be gone."
I silently promised, "I'll watch for you again next year.
Your memory blazes within me, a grand gift like no other.”
* * * * * * * * * *
copyright 2019 - all rights reserved by author
* * * * * * * * * *
published 2019 - Willow Park Press
SPIRALS
A Collection Of Poetry & Prose From Utah's Northern Edge
