The autumn afternoon Is cloaked in gray-slate haze, Deep and wistful and lonely. The veiled hills are like nuns, Who peer for a moment, Then flit warily away Against a dim sky-line. The farmlands lie In filmy patience and unreality. Silos stand, like priests blessing Roof tops of blue misshapen barns. Momentarily the river catches the filtered sunlight And the sheen is like music Heard through long distances. Cows go down through the mystery of Dimness, and are swallowed. Cars rise out of it, And return swiftly to nothingness. Only sounds seem real: They are near, and startlingly clear. Autumn haze, veiled and gray-blue -- Harbinger of winter. And I am lonely. |