A major appliance
Coughed
And perished
In late October,
A metaphor
That winter was coming,
And in some cases,
Already here.
Sitting in
The Piano Room,
Staring at the leaves
In the front yard
That blazed bright
With recent turning.
A bunch of sizes
And shades
That resembled
Out of shape
Power trudgers,
Gasping and hesitant,
Before gravity
And time
Relieved them
of all concern.
Soon, they’ll tumble
And float
To their doom.
Waiting for the
Lowe’s delivery of
A new washing machine,
Mostly for our clothes,
But perhaps to also
Rinse our souls.
The angle
Of morning light
Glances through
One of the window panes,
Spreading a comforting
Reflection of greens and yellows
On the mute white keys.
A breeze
Flickers through the trees,
And the shapes on the piano
Dance in rhythm.
Silent autumn,
A tune George Winston
Might share,
But in this case
The colors are the notes
That grab your eye.
Your ears
Will just have to wait.
