Saturday, October 30, 2010


Photo by S. Auberle
There is always that last day
the one you never want to see
and yet, what is lovlier?
This is the day before the day
when November settles in.
This is the day out in the woods
when last silver moths
are winging from moss to leaf,
the day of the last chorus
of swans in the bay.
Today last leaves are letting go,
tumbling down to the beckoning earth.
This is the day
I watch a proud mink
trotting into the forest,
fur gleaming dark wet,
a fish in its mouth
wriggling in the ecstasy
of November's little deaths.
A slightly different version of this poem appeared in "Crow Ink."


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Sharon, I love this. I have many 'lasts'. Could you tell me if this is at Toft Point? I like to know where you are when you describe a place so that I can remember it too. Thanks, Mary Ann Crayton

8:45 PM  

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