Prose Header

Between Seasons

by Oonah V. Joslin

Breath of Autumn

August draws its conclusions;
last long weekend
promising fine.

The moon is full reflective,
the mountain ash bright-berried,
reminds me of going back to school

no more.
Conkers hang green
not yet battle-ready. Drumsticks

suspended, silent in the common lime. Helicopters
spin from sycamores. Drifts
of thistle and rosebay willow herb

tell fuzzy tales of
cold days ahead and white beards;
wild raspberries suited up in red.

The wind breathes in and out the wood
quiet, deep, in,
then out with percussion

a compressed musical meditation
on the season
and drying

each year
lessons us
on dying.


Instrumental Spring

In the stillness of the garden
listen to the flowering tree.
A thousand bees
an instrument
of hum.

Copyright © 2013 by Oonah V. Joslin

Home Page