Autumn Air

When the sun is past midway
in it’s austral journey
and it’s starting to appear
a little watered to the eye.
When the temperatures at night
drop well below the freezing mark
and those damn mosquitoes
have long since given up the fight.
When I’m walking through a shelter belt
and fallen leaves
boil up around my feet
and Alice Slough is bivouac
to a hundred thousand ducks and geese.
It’s then the golden days of summer
surrender to the polished amber of the fall.
It’s the air I think,
mostly it’s the air.
Looking at the world
through the crystal Autumn air.


I wonder how they got that name

peacock tails I think

would be closer to the truth of it.

You never see them in the summertime

only on those high sky winter days

are the rainbows there.

I used to think when I was young

that they’re a kind of Northern Light 

encircling the sun

or faery rings

planted by some winter sprite…

It’s when the air’s so cold 

it flays the skin from my face.

So cold and still

I feel a need to whisper

that to break the silence 

would be somehow seen a sin.

It’s then the sundogs 

silently erupt and effervesce

in their kaleidoscopic dance of hues 

around a winter sun