The Poetry of Autumn

My sister Mimi wrote, and shared via a family e-mail group, a nice poem about a fall walk on the Duck Creek bike path, which runs through Davenport and Bettendorf, Iowa.

I especially like the vivid opening line:  “Red, gold, purple, bronze splashes against green, punctuation marks in a seasonal conversation.”

Fall is indeed a season of contrast.  Yesterday, Tristan and the other grandkids were over.  After a raucous, and fun, Skype session with Amanda, it was recreation time.  Nikayla wanted a walk—the other day, she and Tristan and I had walked in the neighborhood and discovered the joy of tossing leaves in the air, and she wanted a repeat.

Tristan?  As usual, his main request was:  “Bike?”

So bike we did.  Amanda, Nikayla, Amelia, Theresa and a baby grandson went for a stroll as Tristan and I went on our own bike ride.  It was cool and breezy, but beautifully blue in the way a clear day in October in Iowa can be, where is sun is wandering around the southern parts of the sky, too low to feel hot or oppressive, but high enough still so it doesn’t feel December or January weak.

Tristan and I paused and played at C Avenue park, but Mr. T was mainly into riding, so that’s what me mostly did.

Today, I should be grading, and I will be in a few minutes, but it was a beautiful ride to my office.  Despite being breezy, cool, and somewhat cloudy—the air was fresh after overnight sprinkles, the day a bit cooler than Saturday, and the air heavy with that walnut, leafy autumn odor of fallen leaves, ripe nuts and ripe berries—it was nice.

Well, if I were the poet my sister is, I might have penned some verse.  I can see why fall in Iowa awakens the muse.  Now, back to work.