Indian Summer

I hike the ridge on the last warm, tousled day,
speckled as a partridge egg,
sun already stilting 
shadows in early afternoon.
The leaves 
are October butterflies, crimson, gold.
I want to stop earth’s tilt-a-whirl right here,
hold this moment that feels so much like love
before the winter’s swordsmith hones his blade.

– Sarah Russell
First published in Poppy Road Review
Photo by Greg A. Hartford
For Poets United Mid-week motif:  Autumn

45 thoughts on “Indian Summer

  1. I think you must have been with me this last week! Except, I miss the leaves which resemble butterflies. I have golden coins up here in Alaska and the butterflies are in Oregon.

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  2. love the way you wove the seasons in to this poem with the imagery – pheasant’s egg; winter steely white as a swordsmith – a tender and lovely poem Sarah

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    1. Thanks so much, Jammy. Your comment didn’t get eaten. It’s just that the first time someone posts a comment, WordPress sends it to me for approval. That helps keep out the trolls. That hasn’t happened yet, but in today’s environment, you never know…

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