Silent Autumn

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.