OTESEGO AUTUMN

Out of the blanket of cool air condescending
     to moistened ground
And the veils of morning mists like
     spirits of yankee farmers still
     rising hours before the sun

Out of the antiphonal intonations of geese
     gathering for the looming journey
And the low growling of distant tractors 
     closing the earth for its long slumber

The ancient trees rise to
     another turning of the great circle they
alone among the living have
     witnessed for centuries.

Touched by autumn's final flame in their
     ripened readiness for the empty season, 
They collect themselves,
     life's water descending through  
     limb and trunk back, back to deep roots
Where life and wisdom abide.

© 2001, Sanford C. Shugart

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