COUNTRY ROAD

The windy foliage
at a distance
along the country road
in early August
wary of the dog days
but invigorated by a run
after the scorched silence
on the Cape empties out
a few wary tourists
heading for the waves
or home harbor boats,
here in the pure mist
of scattering hyacinth
my brush slowly shapes
cirrus cloud-like patterns
though a gorgeous labyrinth
drawn from the dark blue sky
under once shackled
painted gold leaves
now fallen from nearby oak
opening my shining album
of discreet poem and photo
hearing sounds from love bird nests
sprouting weathered wings
of departing grackles
wishing to sing of Whitman
this brier sweet Autumn
near a fawn's footfall
as memories slowly walk away
from trembling thorns
on this last summer rosebush
near shifting bee hives
newly born as metamorphosis
on branches of Evergreen
from another generation
with extended memories
now gone from a counterfeit
time in the city,
I'm collecting blueberries
under poplars
wanting to play Mozart
in the open woodland
on a self made magic flute
to transport me though time
by another blossoming island
without boundaries
in a chimera of day dreams
hearing wary hunters depart
in the light of day.