The Fall Almost Nobody Sees

The Fall Almost Nobody Sees

by David Budbill

Everybody’s gone away.

They think there’s nothing left to see.

The garish colors’ flashy show is over.

Now those of us who stay

hunker down in sweet silence,

blessed emptiness among

red-orange shadblow

purple-red blueberry

copper-brown beech

gold tamarack, a few

remaining pale yellow

popple leaves,

sedge and fern in shades

from beige to darkening red

to brown to almost black,

and all this in front of, below,

among blue-green spruce and fir

and white pine,

all of it under gray skies,

chill air, all of us waiting

in the somber dank and rain,

waiting here in quiet, chill

November,

waiting for the snow.