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When the Boeotian Hunter Appears








The hunter appears in the sky these nights

That great signal that tells of autumn’s arrival

His belt glowing brightly, vying for attention

With the gold of a harvest moon rising hugely

Dangling supernaturally just above the horizon


This is the season I think of as mine, I love it so

Filled with possibilities; summer is over and slinking off

Finished, it is time to get back to work, or school, or writing

In earnest, not that any of the creative stuff ever stops really

But the languid heat, even here in the northern hemisphere,

Dulls the senses somewhat, at least mine, during summer


However, give me the sharp bite of the breezes tickling autumn’s

Leaves – all of them resplendent – an impressionist’s delight

Ochre, carnelian, russet – and shades thereof – splayed against

All manner of evergreen — spruce, pine, cedar— in varying hues of green

And my blood quickens, my heart begins to race, I am reinvigorated


So ready to write the next great thing, I have to physically

Rein myself in, tie myself down, to try to keep from going

Madly off in all directions, or I just might and then it will

Be winter all too soon and while I do love that chilly season


I know I will regret wasting autumn if I don’t pay heed

To impulse control, to the need for some structure, ah but

It is hard when the puddles begin to ice over and the sky

Breaks cerulean and life feels new again  … ah autumn



3 thoughts on “When the Boeotian Hunter Appears

  1. Your use of the color words is so vivid here – they are such beautiful words and so substantial and sensual – they made that excitement especially palpable. The going off in directions like the wind storming. k .

  2. Love autumn for its sights and earthy smells but, having had a bad ankle break on ice, I don’t like the winters here anymore. Getting too old to shovel snow. lol
    Loved this poem, so full of life and colour and vibrancy.

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