The Laughter of October

Mirth at sunset,
when herons scream
like children
in the shallows,
and up
on the branches,
aurulent shafts of light
play with the shadows
of auburn leaves —

Come to me and stay
awhile,
for the laughter of October
is upon my face,
a golden glow,
a raging fire that hides
in the Indian summers
of my heart.

by D. G. Vachal. © 2012

*** photography by DigitalArt2@Flickr Commons