Hello my wee chickadees! Sorry to see you’re up and about. But I have something for you; it’s time once again for Late Night Poetry (our motto: It’s the Middle of the Night So Put the Accordion Down Already).
Found this while trolling around for lovely fall poems. It spoke to me.
Neighbors in October
By David Baker
All afternoon his tractor pulls a flat wagon
with bales to the barn, then back to the waiting
chopped field. It trails a feather of smoke.
Down the block we bend with the season:
shoes to polish for a big game,
storm windows to batten or patch.
And how like a field is the whole sky now
that the maples have shed their leaves, too.
It makes us believers—stationed in groups,
leaning on rakes, looking into space. We rub blisters
over billows of leaf smoke. Or stand alone,
bagging gold for the cold days to come.
Source: The Truth about Small Towns (University of Arkansas Press, 1998)