To Dream of Fall
I dreamt of walking
along the shores in fall.
Through the meadow grasses bowed and silver with dew
where the black-eyed susans bravely stand.
My hands brushing
the splendor of goldenrod spikes,
asters like a scatter of pale stars.
Then among the flame bright birch,
graceful and fluid as dancers.
I would have stayed there,
in the light with them
but the shadows called
and darkness drew me on.
The forest like a ruined cathedral
hung with tapestry of moss and lichen
vaulted chambers leading on and I followed
knowing, as one does in dreams.
A sea of light beyond the stony beach,
the moss and shadow of the forest,
my steps silent.
The ruby gleam of cranberries,
nestled among the mosses,
drew me to kneel.
I picked handfuls of them into the tails of my shirt.
Carried them in the makeshift sack,
like a thief through the glowering woods and shaggy blowdowns.
