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Old Trees in Autumn

Existing just to be seen
Like great ladies in fiery ball gowns
Newly woven in hues never witnessed before
Shimmering on breezes with no modesty
Shameless flirts and wicked wits
Charming, they dare the wind to dance.

Gusts swirling
Nimbly seduce golden threads undone
And entice into the air
Bits of scarlet and orange
Sequins and silk
That twirl furiously
And finally float
To the ground as confetti
A fading royal carpet.

Stripped bare
Under a gray canopy
Denuded and unaware
They wear not even their own shadows.

Their arms forever bent
They reach high with gnarled fingers
Crying to the sky
For new snowy wedding dresses
And icy baubles
To capture the far away twinkling
Chandelier light of the low winter sun.

And when asleep they will dream
Of hope once more
For gossamer veils budding chartreuse
And pink in spring.

But for now
With them are just the smoky perfumed ghosts
That rise silently from chimneys
To drift and mingle with their old friends
And then go
Leaving only the naked chill
And the stillness of waiting.

Learn more about this author, Ysabel J. Doran.
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