Plucking Autumn
This autumn day is wrapped
in grains of golden light
that falls as rain might gather
or as hours might braid
without a hand’s restraint.
We pull wheat tight
through fingers, and
pluck ripe berries that
trickle purpled heavy stain.
And winter waits another day.
written for Poetic Bloomings
You really capture that golden end in autumn… it is almost like waiting… waiting for disaster.
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Winter and I are not compatible.
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May Winter forever be waiting… except where they need snow for the watershed and the glaciers and the hibernating bears… well, maybe it does serve a purpose. I like the feel of running pods through the fingers and the stain of ripe berries too.
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I love all the magic of Autumn and your poem captures it so beautifully, while Winter can wait. Thank you for sharing.
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A beautiful harvest of autumn Misky~ Love your title too ~
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I’m also hoping winter waits for us to harvest the golden grain. Lovely poem!
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Yep. Autumn is a pleasure and a warning.
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This is so good. I especially like “or as hours might braid / without a hand’s restraint”
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Love this. I like the thoughts of fulling a stalk of wheat throught the fingers, feeling the wheat berries. I wonder, after reading so many of these autmn poems, am I the only person who likes winter?
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I love crisp, cold winters days but not the rain that lasts for months on end without a break.
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It's Still Life 
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