September 23, 2020

Sep 23, 2020

Nina Bisognani

SEPTEMBER

Peddling my red bike
on the Eastern Trail
autumn leaves
announce my progress
dry and crisp
and scented faintly
of fermented apples.
Or perhaps
the latter is my own
wishful thinking.
This season tends
to pull me in
fragrantly.
The conifers
of course
are ever present
in their green gowns
greeting me
with a balsam kiss.
This is why I come.
Not just for the firs
although their allure
would be enough.
Sometimes
it is the sapsucker’s call
that welcomes me.
Other days
it might be a whisker twitch
before the cottontail
suddenly remembers the time.
I peer between small oak
and pine
where pockets of velvet moss
are lit by the sun
and dragonflies
dance above still pools.
It’s a magic that draws me.
Today, though
it is the aspen
their bows bending low
like grace
again and again
and again.
Limbs
touch my face
even if just by intention
as if to say, “Breathe.”
These woods
it turns out
always seem to know
what I need.
Or perhaps
it is me who knows.
Of this I am sure:
there is a solace
in the gentleness
of leaves.
So I lean in.

       Kathryn Yingst