Triumph

The orange leaves triumph
for but a time;
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then fall to the ground
to be raked, bagged,
wind blown, composted —
changed.
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the tree triumphs
for but a time
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then falls to the ground
to be chopped, burned, planed,
firewood, timber, boards —
changed.
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men, women, you, me,
we triumph for but a time;
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then we fall to the ground,
the way of all life;
ashes to ashes,
dust to dust…
to be mourned, buried,
cremated, interred —
changed…

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but that is not the end.

For God
Triumphs
For all time.

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He rescues us
From dust
and calls us
To live
In Triumph
With Him
Forever.

Landmark

It’s a local landmark
in our front yard.

“Is that the building with the tree in the middle?”
they ask.

We nod and smile.

Only the old folks remember
it used to be a
fruit-stand.

Bleachers built
in a perfect hexagon
around the tree
for bushels of gleaming red
and glowing gold apples —

Jonathan Mcintosh
Cortland Winesap
Golden delicious
Yellow transparent.

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Breathe deep
Smell the sweet
Hear the shouts of sisters
jumping down the bleachers
between the baskets–
our feet zing
and echo
on the wooden boards.

The years transform
the echo
into the whine
of brine trucks
speeding up the road.

When did I get old?

apple on crate

 

 

Gratitude for the old cottage that has come round to my life again…

Street

Country road in autumn

gratitude for the roads taken in life…

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gratitude for free elections open to all…