Tag Archives: autumn equinox


Fall arrives looking a lot like summer

With a few differences

The parking lot at the lake isn’t very crowded

Like it is in July

There’s only one crowd of drunken teen cliffjumpers

Not the usual dozen

Less noise

I assume as much since I’ve got the tunes cranked and the earphones on

Today the shuffled top rated playlist actually seems to be random

For once

Whirligig seeds float to earth from the forest canopy

Briefly caught in columns of golden light

Dogs frolic on the beach, now that the season has turned

In the shadows of the forest the air is cool

A frisson of cold foreshadowed

Makes my bare arms shiver

With anticipation of the deepening cold

But today, stepping through the door into autumn

It looks a lot like summer


David Trudel  © 2012



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Close the Door

I close the door on summer from an exterior room

Spiralled rock ascending like a celtic rune

Scooped stone marks the heart of this hill

Former mountain

Ground down by the rolling glacial might of thousands



Tons of ice

At the cusp of the equinox

Leaves already swirl their way to litter the ground

I close the door on summer

Feeling how thin the afternoon’s warmth has become

Sitting at the top of what’s left of this hill

Former mountain

Absorbing the depth of this rock that plunges

Deep within the crust

Anchoring itself against the shifting of the plates

Fissures, quakes and lava flows

Tsunami waves thundering down the straits

I close the door on summer

Thinking that we made it through another season

Tomorrow I’ll climb back up

To open up the next door



David Trudel  © 2012



Filed under Poetry

Autumn Equinox

When spirits walk

Draped in shadowed cloaks

And moving still as night

Space, time, and mortal thoughts erased

When spirits walk

And then exhale, a sigh from gravest depths

That settles with a mental thud

Within my sleeping breast

When spirits walk

All emotions ever felt are gathered close

providing impulses sharp as drawn knives

A sigh lands, shudders and calls me awake

An exhortation of nostalgia and regret

And any longing of my own reduced

To a reflection of true and desperate need

When spirits walk

Upon my bed to sit, pat me gently and caress

With fingers already melting into mist

To share a moment of communion that

Echoes like a church bell at dawn

And then returns to rest

David Trudel ©

September 2002


Filed under Poetry