Fall
by Robert Russell
Winner of the 2020 Pat Nestler Creative Writing Award Poetry Category
The sun wasn’t meant to shine so brightly.
The silver that lines the murky blanket above
the celestial ceiling
the seraphic cast
the empyrean stretch
that which ruffles and billows and travels farther than the eye can see
ushers forth a foreshadowing chill which gently nudges and spurs foliage into bringing into the offing a light and fulsome fall.
Trees sway and transform under such invisible force.
Verdant and viridian fade into fulvous
and puce and ochre
dancing and descending by the brisk breeze
a reaper of leaves
Green slips turn tawny chips
that, underfoot, catch my ears in a satisfaction
a reminder of the time
an aural autumnal augur
unfound in any other season
Fruits fall
Mountains loom
Friends call
Squash bloom
And what casts a shadow against the orchard’s floor is not gloom
But a greeting from a forgotten fall
Chickadees and swallows evolve into ravens and jackdaws
A cast of colors murdered by shades of black
A tepid air
A once leaving embrace
A welcome
A grace
now grows crisp
sharp at sunrise
smooth at sunset
gentle and fine through the course
but that still caresses my skin
turning hair into soldiers
flesh into feathers
She is here again.
A daily dose of nostalgia
A rush of that childhood excitement
The love of fear
And the fear of growing up
A multitude of masks that I still wear
The flutter of the heart
And the tingles of the spine
The ones that left long ago
There is a missing-ness
What the Portuguese call “saudade”
That which is undefinable
That which comes now only once a year and only at the end
The epilogue
The credits
The punctuation.
And what happens next is the rebirth of hope that that silver lining once held.