Tag Archives: autumn


At the end of my wandering,
I wait with the golden leaves
For the autumn sky
to desire my flight.

Copyright Kay Winter

Tagged , , , ,

Birch Light – reposting

Standing on the ridgeline
just above the golden quiver
of a birch wood,
We see, above the treeline,
a gray, stained sky approaching.

We throw our arms across
Autumn’s shoulders
As if to ask it
To tarry.

So that we can remain
this golden,
this splendid.

Copyright  Kay Winter

Tagged , ,


At the mountain lodge
Gazing at the autumn sunset
A shared glance among
The blushing maples.

Copyright Kay Winter

Tagged , , , ,

Maple Leaf

Alone in a quiet park
off a country road
I wait in the dusk
for a crimson maple leaf
to fall
into the dark river.

– Copyright Kay Winter

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

An Ode

To the last light on the lake
on a day in November
pretending to be October.

And to the book
left open
on my lap
with pages from
every other Autumn.

Copyright Kay Winter

Tagged , , , , ,


What wind blew me back here
from where I was
I don’t know
except it was raining there, too.

I came from late June
and the rain had a green edge
that also meant thunder
and lightning that would crack
over the neighbor’s cottonwood trees.

But the place I have come to
is as I remembered.
Autumn, woods,
the wide cold lake
blending into the sky
through the wet black branches.

I am stopped,
dumbstruck on the trail,
by the leaves in a clearing
fallen and aflame
the fire of them burning
the brighter for being wet.

And the wind,
maybe it is the same June wind,
blows the rain through the air
to this clearing.
I stand on muddy earth
in a time-hollowed place
that I will come back to
as I have done.

And my hands are wet,
I think, they are wet.
And it is June again
and the patio chairs must be tipped
against the table before I go inside
to close the upstairs windows.

And can I ask you,
can I,
where are you now?
Do you have such places
that you go to?

And what is the call of now
but an echo through us
that says
and calls back

– Copyright Kay Winter

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

The Far Meadow

The Fall I was back home
walking the woods each afternnoon,
ambling the remembered paths
past the pond,
the low hills,
across the wide old log
spanning the blackwater creek.

One late day
as I was leaving the woods for home,
pulled by the heaviness there,
you ran past
and called,
toward my downcast face,
“Deer running in the far meadow.”

And so through the falling dusk,
I turned my steps,
and took the shortcut
past the sugar house,
along the treeline,
and the deer ran past me,
wild and beautiful
in the last light.

I came every day after that,
as Fall wore away to winter,
as the leaves drifted down,
turned brown,
crackled underfoot,
and every day
you, whoever you were,
called out to me,
where the deer ran.

I missed days at Christmas
but returned with my good fortune
on New Year’s day,
but you, whoever you were,
were gone.

I moved away soon after,
and wandered different woods.

But I want to tell you,
you, whoever you were,
that no matter how many stones
we cast or carry,
the deer are running
in the far meadow.

– Copyright Kay Winter

Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

Collage Poem: Small Town Sea


1-They Never
They never went to the sea
that was past
their back yard
to the night sky
and small town stars
never slipped past the last lights
past the moonlight
on the north end Methodist stones
past the south end gas pumps headlights roadhouse

they never went to the east west
elm-shadowed oak-shadowed maple-shadowed
never stepped over fences
into dark mudded fields
tractor paths
drainage ditches
unfamiliar lost night

2-He Started

He started
inside autumn
coming out from
a golden willow
rake in hand
to the low fence
at the end of the leaf drifting lane
across the cornstalks
at last
stepping over the fence
into the last light

3-She Did

She was the only one
who really knew how to leave
November empty Tuesdays
disappearing between the
pinning up of plain white sheets
toward the fallen fence
at the end of her own street
into the east west trees
into fog
walking with a secret wild smile

4-I Was

I was nothing
until I followed her
from my school desk window
her gray coat a mystery
along the treeline
out of St. John the Baptist school
I followed her field row steps
in last week’s snow
dark plaid girl
over the same fallen fence
following into the east west fog
into fallow field row
into the prairie
into the white sky
in my wet school shoes
waiting with her
for the small town
sea sounds of empty trees.

– Copyright Kay Winter

Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

Collage Poem: Bend Down All the Flowers


Bend down all the flowers
until your face is up
into the blue spring lilac
barefoot all the summer mornings
until dahlia sundown passage
of zinnias and the last cornflowers
on the table in the hallway
toward autumn
the door left open
for the yellow drift down.
– Copyright Kay Winter

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,