The little round leaves whisper together
Like a theater crowd just as the lights dim.
And winds wave over
the tops of tall dry grasses,
Sounding like incoming ocean’s tide

A hawk whistles in the distance
and dives again. Red berries cluster
on bare stems. I stand very still
in my red jacket listening to
woodpeckers late at work.

Nearby a whoosh and thunk; soft
and heavy the pine cone is felled.
Soon the silent snows will come.
All is well. All kinds of things are
subtly and wonderfully well.

© Anne Benvenuti 2012
All Souls Day
For my mother, Corinne Benvenuti, and for her mother Rena George


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