Colours coming, colours leaving

 

You dip your paint brush,
and with textured strokes,
you decorate the landscape in ochres and russets.
The trees tremble with your breath,
each breath sending a leaf into twirling,
each leaf dancing its way into carpet,
all of the leaves rustling with every stride taken,
warm earthy bouquets after rain given.

The branches eventually laid bare,
except for the evergreens,
wearing their needle furs,
waiting for the snow.
And then …
all the colour will be gone,
and the picture will be black and white.

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26 thoughts on “Colours coming, colours leaving

    • For the sake of blog consistency, I shall thank you here again, quite sincerely, because you inspired me and encouraged me to put my poetic pen to paper. I have not had the head space for poetry in the last months and I shall have to make space in my head for it, because it is a beautiful pastime. πŸ™‚

  1. Love how you paint the colours with your words. It made me think about the fact that we tend to admire transition the most; spring as well as autumn.
    “The trees tremble with your breath” has the allure of alliteration.
    Fine to see you writing again : )

    • Thank you, Martin, for your beautifully poetic response. We’re probably wired to admire these transitions, because it is necessary for survival. If we did not notice them, we would probably not procreate nor survive the bleak winters (in the days before technology). πŸ™‚

  2. You are back! I missed you. So good to have you writing poetry again – or, at least, sharing it with us. Beautiful picture and your words render that painterly quality of the autumn air perfectly.

    • Thank you, Marina. I have missed you too and have thought of you often. My writing has been dormant for half a year, but I have translated a great deal and am learning two new languages. One with the kids, and one just for me. πŸ™‚

  3. Trees to the leaves: “Ok, kids. We’ve fed you long enough. We’re tired and need to get some sleep. Its time for you to go.”

    Leaves to trees: “Hey, wait a minute! Where do you think you got all that energy to grow? After all, were it not for us you’d have rotted long ago!”

    Trees to leaves: “We understand. But truth be told, its a cyclic thing. You come and you go. You give us energy, and then we give you the boot. In any case, the time has come for you to become food for our roots.”

    The trees then dried and closed the veins that fed those leaves and held them tight. From green to yellow to brown they turned, twisting and shrinking for want of food, and lack of support. Then quietly they began to fall, dancing briefly in the wind while spiraling to the ground.

    Mother Earth to leaves: “Welcome home kids! I hope you got lots of work done! And now its time for my bugs to undress you for bed.”

    Leaves to Mother Earth: “Thank you Mother! It was fun! And we DID do a lot of work. But, yes, we are tired now…and could really use some rest.”

    With a welcoming smile she said, “Yes, I think thats best.” πŸ˜‰

    • Thank you, Peter. It is actually bizarre that as I posted this poem on my blog it was, without my knowing it, snowing. And as I posted the link in Facebook, a friend of mine who lives down the road wrote that it was snowing. Yesterday we had autumn’s rich palette and today we have monochrome winter. πŸ™‚

  4. Warm and colourful welcome back, Q, I’ve missed your poetry. You’ve just about captured all that Autumn has to offer in this poem. It is such a wonderful, if slightly foreboding time of year, but your poem reflects it all perfectly.

    • Thank you, John. We are having a particularly beautiful autumn this year, where the leaves are turning slowly, staying longer on the trees and coming down gently. But as I posted the poem on my blog it was unbenownst to me all about to change, for I awoke to a snow-filled, monochrome landscape. πŸ™‚

  5. By the way, what a superb picture that is. I just looked at it again and realised that, apart from the beautiful “ochres and russets”, you have managed to juxtapose the light trunks and greener, as yet unchanged leaves of the silver birch on the right with the dark trunks and russet turning leaves of the…whatever these trees are, I’m not sure, on the left. It looks and feels like summer facing winter across the path of autumn. Brilliant!

    • Thank you for your detailed response to my photo. I took it with my ‘mediocre’ phone camera, because as Murphy would have it, my proper camera was at home. But I keep learning that good photographs are not taken with high-tech cameras, but it is the mind’s eye that recognizes what a good picture is and we can capture this with any old camera it seems. When I took the photo I wanted to frame the photo with the white and black branches and capture the diversity of colours. Also, if you zoom into the picture, you’ll find a person at the epicentre of the perspective lines, which initially I thought was unfortunate, but which I later thought was excellent, because one can see how small we are between such giants. This comment is turning into a John-Janstie-style essay. πŸ˜‰

  6. This is truly inspiring, snow will fall but there is something crisp and pure about it, like the earth cleansing itself…or maybe that’s my poetic side itching to write something good too lol xxx

  7. Thanks for this walk through spiraling colors; colors dancing happily toward their own absence. Something in its patterning reminds me of Jaques’ “The Seven Stages of Life” speech from As You Like It.

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