A Poem for a Thursday #276

Autumn is my favorite time of year. It is as if I come alive when the days cool down and the leaves start to change. When I came across this poem about my favorite time of year, written by Mary Oliver, one of my favorite poets, it was the obvious choice for today’s post.

Don't you imagine the leaves dream now
     how comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
     nothingness of the air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don't you think
     the trees, especially those with 
mossy hollows, are beginning to look for

the birds that will come—six, a dozen—to sleep
     inside their bodies? And don't you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
     the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
     stiffens and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
     its long blue shadows. The wind wags
its many tails. And in the evening
     the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

Song for Autumn
Mary Oliver