On Labor Day, my family and I visited the Geauga County Fair. On the way there--along Route 87 and incidentally almost across the road from where I went to summer camp--I saw an old, barkless tree. I thought it looked like a skeleton hand. As my mind ran over the image, I thought it would make a good poem. I thought about it a little more, and realized that having the picture, and then writing the poem, would be even better. I thought still more, and came up with a few other ideas for poems which just needed an appropriate tree, and I saw some trees which I thought would make a good poem.
I still need to get a picture of the skeleton hands tree. I'm working on the poem. But I have several photos, and several poems, in progress.
But below is the first that have both image and words, together and completed.
The waning vestiges of summer sun
Pass fire to the leaves when autumn comes.
The longer rays give way to shorter days.
No longer sky, but Earth which seems ablaze.
In crimson, copper, auburn, orange, saffron
The palette of the summer sun lives on.
As always, comments are welcome.