by Carol Casey The path is trodden, dusty, level.You know it will take youwhere many have gone. Step off—tangles of brambles,sometimes with blackberries,more often with little clawsthat catch on clothes and skin;and tortuous tree roots—inconvenient, sacred data unearthed—subterranean snakelets somehowsifted into snarls for feet to catch.There are stems that twine…
by Amy Southard I know when Autumn arrives, Usually early September here. The corn in my garden is ready for harvest, The silks turning brown. The pumpkins are beginning To turn more orange than green. Leaves are turning yellow, orange and red, Falling to the ground and crunching, As playful…
by John P. Kristofco in autumn clouds above the church, twenty, maybe thirty geese align like praying hands, aimed at something promised by the wisdom of their hollow bones, agate eyes acknowledging the sun; they sweep above our sanctuaries, sidewalks, all the places where we leave our lives behind, in…
by Bethany Veith We fought against the cold sweat dripping in August as we split hardwood and stacked it just so upon wispy grass and purple asters. The summers vanished like a dream. Wood smoke settled into the valley stippled with red and orange maples silhouetted against the frosted White…
by Matt Stefon for Minori and for I-495, which always gets us home If you lay your heart bare earlier than the trees in mid-October, you should prepare for cold. They’re still wearing orange, red, and yellow school sweatshirts over their trunks for some time after graduation, and will do…
by Kelly Milos Do you know the night phantoms? The shades that grow strange in Autumn? Oh, you must know the ones— the swirling spirits of once-living leaves giving the air its static sound, the clouds clicking through the branches guarding the harvest moon from prying eyes. They’re glimpses of…