Posts Tagged ‘fall’



Fall imprints on our memory

This lazy time of year

For she touches all our senses

As she  paints the landscape here


A teasing breeze spanks the leaves

So they’ll release their hold

Their flaming autumn colors

Foretelling winter’s cold


That wafting fragrance that I smell

Comes from my apple trees

Where carmine jewels are holding tight

Before a winter’s freeze


Sampling one’s sweet succulence

I bite into the skin

The savory flesh delights my mouth

And juice runs down my chin


Tepeed corn stands in fields

With pumpkins at their feet

And gourds with autumn’s color schemes

Edge rows of late fall wheat


There’s milkweed silk and cattail down

That feel so smooth and soft

There’s pungent smell of new-mown hay

Piled high in my barn loft


And waving weary wingtips

Geese are flying north

Squirrels are burying hickory nuts

While darting back and forth


Autumn parades her opulence

For everyone to see

Touching the senses we possess

And mesmerizing me


5/28/96 – Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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Fall leaves,

flaunting brilliant shades

of scarlet, saffron

and tangerine,

cling tenaciously

to sleepy umber arms,

reluctant to leave

their summer security.


Teased by capricious winds

they release their sad

desperate hold,

slowly pirouetting

to the waiting earth below.


There, joining their siblings

on a wind-swept lawn,

they cavort crazily

in a brisk dance of death,

breezes singing

their funeral dirge.


9/12/94 – Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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Fall’s Debut


Wood smoke sifts through crimson leaves,

Webs wear crystal frost,

Announcing changing seasons and

A summer that is lost.


2/19/95        Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck


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She carried the box everywhere,

tied shut with soiled string.

The items held within its frame,

to her, meant everything.

It was full of priceless treasures

she’d found on nature quests:

such as small colorful pebbles,

and eggs from fallen nests,

some catkins from a willow branch,

fall leaves she’d pressed with care,

some tiny iridescent shells

and glossy corn-silk hair,

a hummingbird’s exquisite nest

she’d found at season’s end,

the spiraled tendril from a vine

with ornamental bend,

a stone shaped like a tiny bear,

some silky milkweed down,

a piece of pungent dark green moss,

and a small acorn crown,

fragile monarch butterfly wings,

and feathers of bright hue,

some tiny aromatic seeds,

and flower petals, too.


When asked about the things within,

the child was quick to say,

“The world is in this little box,

I see it everyday.

The contents that I treasure here,

are the greatest to be found.

They’re pieces of the universe

of touch and sight and sound.”


“I see the leaves of summertime

and fall’s golden brown.

I even see leaves lose their grip

and twirl as they float down.

I see milkweed pods opening,

and many birds in flight.

I see a nest of pale blue eggs,

and a horned owl at night.

Inside I hear a running stream

and breezes kissing trees.

I see a rainbow’s lovely arch,

and yellow bumblebees.

I see gently swaying corn-stalks

and flowers everywhere.

I see butterflies in sunlight.

flitting here and there.”


“The sky is mirrored in this box.

The earth is present, too.

If viewed with seeing heart and soul,

the world’s revealed to you.

I look inside this box each day

and touching each small thing,

I’m humbled at the beauty

that memory can bring.

I chose these things with utmost care,

researching day and night,

and memorized the way they looked —

before I lost my sight.


4/10/91        Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck


3’rd … Arkansas NPD 1997

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Acorns crunching underfoot

Chevroned geese on high

Squirrel’s hiding hickory nuts

Summer’s soft goodbye

Autumn colors splashing leaves

Air a smoky haze

Pungent smell of burning leaves

Fall’s balmy days

Corn-stalks flapping weary arms

Stubbled fields of grain

Evening crispness in the air

Cold drops of rain

Crisp leaves dancing on my lawn

Caught by sudden breeze

Pumpkin jewels dotting fields

Sluggish bumblebees

Raucous blue jays scolding

Robins disappear

It’s the year’s early evening

Indian Summer’s here


10/5/88          Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

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