Abstract Autumn
Monday morning arrives
in the company of last night's
clouds and winds.
It feels more like autumn.
Outside, the orange and ochre leaves
of unknown trees sway in the gusts
like little birds flying against a gale.
Spots of blue among
broken clouds in previous days
have been replaced by violet patches
juxtaposed against silvery white;
a ceiling of cotton candy.
Outside my window there are
gossamer remains of an
abandoned spider web.
Its owner long gone – a meal for a bird
or having found a safer home
has left its artwork in tatters,
silk becoming fodder
for an organic mobile;
part natural and part urban.
Calder would be proud
of the accomplishment.
Pollock would envy the wispy
flagellation of threads in air,
wishing he could have flung
paint half as well.
And Rothko,
he would be envious of the subtle,
beautiful, and melancholy
palette of this Autumn daybreak.
(November 13, 2006)
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