Autumn

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-by Mary Hamrick

 

Autumn is like an old book:
Marred spines turn mean yellow,
staples rust red-orange.

Every stained page is stressed
by a splat of color. Rough-red,
like an old tavern,

we become hungry birds
and prepare for fall.
Shape and shadow are candied citron

as lanterns turn bitter yellow. Autumn
is a red fox, a goblet filled with dark wine,
a hot chilli pepper with smoky eyes.

Pressed leaves take in the colors
of seafood paella and saffron; these leaves
are like death, climaxing with a smile.

Autumn: Her dress is a net of mussels;
dark shelled, it covers up
summer’s weatherbeaten body.

So pull out your boots
and stand on an aged, wood floor
like an evergreen.

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About Heather Schlender

Hi! Welcome to my little corner of the internet. I am an architect-turned-SAHM of two adorable and energetic kids and wife to an adventure-loving man. I love good books, great coffee, and beautiful architecture. Join me on my journey through fear and faith, doubts and courage, as I discover the life of freedom and joy found in Jesus.

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