I like to capture the passing of the seasons with my camera. My daughter’s preferred medium is poetry. So here is my photograph, and Ella’s poem!
pearly haze of gold ringed about the bus-stop.
air is filled with—something—that lifts it, breathes it
light with promise, ripe as the apples rolling red from the branches
while the light enchants the horse chestnuts slowly.
spells their summer leaves to an amber yellow
/ yellow like the silk in your throat that stops september semantics
rolling off your tongue in the chalk-blue morning,
falling sharp as hail on your neck. at night rain
falls and falls and melts like a moon dissolving, sugarcube soft and
pale as dawn. its voice made of light, the month sings
its own name—the nightingale by the kitchen
trills it back. migrates when the days get shorter. leaves no goodbye note.