Tuesday Twofer

                         The Fall

In the early pace of this morning,

the clouds more at rest than adrift,

an oak leaf still more green than yellow

dropped flat

upon a cluster of leaves on the branch below,

there to await what would befall by and by.

Later at lunch in the last shade until late afternoon,

I watched clouds shuttling southeastward,

listened to trees rustling,

and then happened to spy

the morning leaf in free fall,

grounded now for all eternity—the season unsprung.

Ladson 2013

                        The River Road

The road that winds along the river,

you know I favor,

to watch the constant motion of the water,

here and there

great stones left as debris to divert

the steady stream

along its way, the road rising

and dipping,

pulling back from the river now and then,

so just glimpses

of sunlight caught on the current,

through a squad

of birch perhaps, but sometimes

open wide to a long view across untamed grasses,

to where some several miles

before the state park bridge,

the road pulls down a steep grade and steadily,

again, ascends  

to where a fork comes

that travels off into the woody wilderness—

that veering always gives me pause—should I take it,

as is my inclination,

I ask,

as now do you these fine spring days.

Ladson 2016