An autumn fire races through the forest,
Tongues of russet, crimson and gold,
Flare brightly amidst the greens, then freeze
in place.
Below it all a white-tailed deer feeds,
Peaceful and undisturbed.
No smoke rises from these blazes,
Just a gentle morning mist all silver.
No cries of terror ring, no hearts bleed pain.
A rabbit sniffs the autumn breeze,
And hops away unconcerned.
It's only Autumn with her artist's brush,
Swirling colors through the leaves.
Invitations to a last dance for the trees,
A fandango, a fiesta, a highland's reel,
Before the long winters rest.
I sit and marvel at the beauty on display,
The brightest and most wonderful in years.
And in my mind I feel they know I'm leaving
soon,
Never to return again.
It's Canada saying goodbye.
Copyright by: Wayne Pond
Oct. 12, 2003
