Pamela Wyn Shannon September's Way
At summer's end the crickets fade
And birds soon leave the nests they made
The rush of sadness pulls me down
But lifts when whirling winds resound
The falling acorn, the bent leafy road
The wet mossy bark, the insect's dull drone
The red ember sunset, the seed-rattling gourd
The crackling wood in the black iron hearth
Time is turning, toiling, churning
September's way will slowly turn
The plow again for harvest's horn
Until the bracken and stubbled field is frosted
The cold gorge and rushes, the pending willow
The gurgle of rain, glistening gleam of red leaves
The calm of the horses, their scent on the gate
Mud on the slates, wet wool on the lamb
Time is turning, toiling, churning
September's way will slowly turn
The plow again for harvest's horn
Until the bracken and stubbled field is frosted
The wet-lustered rosehips, the dark crimson haws
The crop of-the berry in glistening shaws
The cobnuts and filberts, the hazel and husk
Sacks for the nutting, hunted at dusk
Time is turning, toiling, churning
September's way will slowly turn
The plow again for harvest's horn
Until the bracken and stubbled field is frosted
The ripe apples fall
When the spice-chilled winds blow
Earth-linked are pumpkins
And vined as they grow
The grey musky rabbit, the cold stem of the kale
Smokey and frosty is the breath of the earth
Time is turning, toiling, churning
September's way will slowly turn
The plow again for harvest's horn
Until the bracken and stubbled field is frosted
Red burnished pears soaked in claret-red wine
Days of the hydref soaked in tree sap and brine
The kernfests and clyacks
Round the plenty filled horns
The dark cello hum of the trees plaintive sound...
(September's Way was. written as a soundtrack for traveling
down the East-West Rd. from Putney to Dummerston, Vermont
on a rainy Autumn day)
