Bring me a pencil.
I will sketch for you the song
Of these geese flying south
In the gray sky above.
Bring me a crayon.
I will color for you the dance
Of these crickets croaking low
In the browning grass.
Bring me a brush.
I will paint for you the fugue
Of these rustling leaves
In their red-yellow hues.
Bring me a pen.
I will mark for you the march
Of these blowing winds
In blue gusts of gloom.
Bring me a palette.
I will blend for you the requiem
Of these autumn mornings
Where the rainbow ends.
October 18, 2016
I walked down into a field below the road in a semi-rural area west of Ann Arbor, Michigan and found an unharvested corn field. While it was still warm on that day, the seasons were turning and so was my professional life.
MULTIMEDIAMAN 