Distant Shore, Lake Attitash

October

To be alive

in leaf beautiful

misty golden time;

scent of wood smoke;

rich dirt lying

fallow until spring;

keen eye of hawk

circling brown fields.

Moments relinquished

like drifting colors;

no escape, a letting

go of all wants,

grateful to be free.

Soon, winter’s gray beard;

cold sinewy hands

will enter the land.

Lainie Senechal