Other Harvests

Dog and me walk in dawn mist. Sails and lines web the trees: mesmerize. On the shadowed path I freeze: there is sound behind us, unrecognized. A slow turn shows nothing unexpected: the river is higher: the river catches the bank. A thump of water is the cause! Enlightened, press on: note new points of swirl, the aerial spun silks.

As the daylight begins its drop, Dog and me walk in damp field grass; gleaming and fat bladed it is.

Feather-scatter marks a kill site: one pale pigeon body rests in the swell of green fronds.
Autumn is not all dropped leaf.


Geo. said…
There's an elegant economy to this post. Your description of the pigeon is such a strong focal point. I sure learn here.
Autumn is definitely not all dropped leaves. In my joy of it, I forget that there are many little deaths going on and that winter lies ahead!
Lisa Southard said…
Thank you both :-) I had a photo of the pigeon and deliberated posting it- but the gruesome outweighed the artistic on that one. The contrast of life and death was very clear though- I read it as a sign of renewal, even with winter looming.

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