Bridge to Autumn
by Michael Escoubas

Now that summer’s gone,
or should I say, September’s
coming on? And by the way,
just in case you haven’t noticed,
September forms a bridge of sorts–

we sense change within ourselves,
now that summer’s gone–
midsummer’s braggadocio
with its lush greens and yellows
singing hymns to muscular youth

bring on a time to reconsider
the meaning of things, we ask,
“What matters most at the bridge?”
Now that summer’s gone …
mountainsides grow cold with snow,

ripening fields wait for the scythe.
The tree line points to truth about ourselves,
as leaves crisp off to richer, deeper
shades of browns, reds and coppers …
now that summer’s gone.



 

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