Her guileless gaze
Set in that miniature face,
Hints secrets as
She solemnly spoons
Me puffed rice,
‘Till I’m full and we laugh
At this curious life.

With small fingers she reaches
And taking my hand,
Leads me out to the place where
My mind must expand,
To follow her language
Emulate her command,
Of the marvels around us -
The grass and the trees,
A plane passing over
Myriad patterns of leaves.

“Papa, Papa, Papa,”
Gravely she chants,
Then running and spinning
And rolling with glee,
Born smiling this one
She shows me life’s dance.

Scarlet fingers of dawn
Creep slowly over dark and distant Adirondack hills, soft
In the crisp morning air,
Perhaps frightened
By the autumn harvest
Of ghouls, goblins, and
My ghostly breath?

Stepping out more fully now,
Sun catches the top
Of the fire bush
And spreads light to gathered yellows, oranges, and reds,
This season’s soft shock of palettes
To replace old green and
Olive drabs,
But just for a fluttering turn or two
Before burning out and falling,
To be swept away
Like confetti on
Nature’s fashion week runway.