Silence of the season:
birds have fled,
insects froze,
frogs buried
themselves in mud.
Wind in bare
branches, grasses
rustling sounds.
Time of change,
seasons turning
from growth to rest
as if nature
holds its breath,
taking stock:
what will next year grow,
become again, new?
New life?
New way of life?
Poem and Photo by Duane L. Herrmann
Duane L. Herrmann, a reluctant carbon-based life-form, was surprised to find himself in 1951 on a farm in Kansas. He’s still trying to make sense of it but has grown fond of grass waving under wind, trees and moonlight. He aspires to be a hermit, but would miss his children, grandchildren and a few friends. He is known to carry baby kittens in his mouth, pet snakes, and converse with owls, but is careful not to anger them! He survived a traumatic, abusive childhood embellished with dyslexia, ADHD (both unknown at the time), cyclothymia, now, PTSD. https://dlherrmann.wixsite.com/home