Those October Winds

[to Ray Bradbury, October's harebrained child of wonder;PLEASE READ ALL HIS BOOKS WHOEVER IS READING THIS, AND HIS STORIES INNUMERABLE, GLISTENING]

and to Percy Bysshe Shelley for the Ode to the West Wind:]

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,

Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,

-excerpted from Shelley's Ode To The West Wind

I stopped along a scarlet way with gold entwined
and other shades too many and delicate to define
the blue blue air

the chimney smoke that lingered there
and the stare of yellow pumpkins
from the porches everywhere.

and in a dream I saw the leaves, my leaves
as on a living stream and they were mine
sent from a far off Time

and so were all the trees and Shelley rose

bent to the sudden child, the chill of those
october winds I long, I longed
to find again

and all their colours swirled
a world unto themselves
of scarlet and of gold, curled with

a hint of lemon a retreating green
a pristine world
supremely indicating the Unseen.

mary angela douglas 29 march 2016