The Fall

Red leaf trees near the road

The leaves are in the mood the eyes
hold when seduction is about
to occur – that soft brilliance
of invitation and the sense that
a moment too long is the moment gone.
So have the hills in late September
enraptured me, rebuked me for missing
time holding what will not come
again in that way. To add shame to
the meditation, a mist has risen
and fallen away in the time it took
to turn and turn again – I barely saw
the disappearance, that slippage
revealing nuances of the hidden.
No wonder Fall is the season melancholia,
so much beauty to take in,
so much to gasp about,
so much to lose,
so much like life I pray for the other
seasons to come quicker
and Fall to pass a little slower.



Poem by Byron Hoot

He is a co-founder of The Tamarack Writers (1974) and The Fernwood Writers Retreat (2019). Proprietor of where you can find Piercing the Veil, The Art of Grilling, Monster In the Kingdom, Such Beautiful Sense, Poems From the Woods, In Our Time, These Need No Title, and Observations.