Category: Nature

Colors of Autumn

Colors of Autumn

The turning of colors
like the turning of tides,
the waxing moon’s gradient shift
to fullness
in pearlescent light,
the chilly air’s osmosis
imperceptible,
permeating a blanket of warmth —

emeralds turn to topaz,
malachite to rubies,
nightingale songs grow faint
as in a moment’s dream —

I was here
many times before
and once again I am

swept in this lunatic array
of colors:
salmon and salamander,
citrine and vermilion,
french horns and trombone,
a cacophony of shades and tinctures —

these moments soon will pass
like many times before
yet for a little while
let me wrap myself
in the colors of Autumn:
Joseph’s coat
of many colors.

D. G. Vachal © 2025

Author’s note: This poem was inspired by a passage from “The Strings are False” by the Irish poet Louis MacNeice. 

“The train for Jersey City was called the Blue Comet and I sat in a luxury Pullman car that was all windows and beyond the windows a reel of autumn madness, the maple trees gone drunk with colour. Tigers and wine, pimento, copper, coral, the bells of St. Clement’s jangling and fanfaronade of trumpets, fireworks out of the ground, Giorgione, Veronese, the tents of all the Sultans. People had told me about the American Fall, and this was it.”  (“Louis MacNeice, The Strings are False, Faber and Faber Limited, Great Britain, 1965, p. 30.”)

Image by: chensiyuan, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0&gt;, via Wikimedia Commons

April’s Sapling in August

April’s Sapling in August

April’s sapling
arising from the fragrance
of damp spring earth,
tiny buds unfurl like infant fingers,
release the first soft leaves,
chartreuse
as songbirds return,
perch
upon scrawny shoulders —

lengthening days drift with tides,
clouds of egrets in flight,
dawn dewdrops
ephemeral
upon blades of grass —

quickly comes August:
the sapling’s girth thickens,
networks of roots proliferate,
dig deep
like earthworms into warm soil,
arms broaden from twigs to branches
as thrushes thread through the canopy,
warble with the rustle of emerald leaves,
golden harp melodies
in the cooling breezes.


D. G. Vachal © 2025



Image by Jonathan Billinger @Wikimedia Commons

Nature’s Chase

Nature’s Chase

In the ivory warmth of summer
while frogs croak among the lily pads
and rustling leaves make harp-like music,
two squirrels scamper in a sprint
one behind the other:

scurrying sounds, a tangled mass of fur,
a frenzied steeple chase
across freshly mown grass,
then up the leaf-laden tree branches
and down again,
vanish into the swampy woods —

In the utmost heat of summer’s day
while orange-winged cicadas buzz and whine
and nikko blue hydrangeas droop from drought,
two swallows break forth in ecstatic flight
one behind the other:

chirps and gurgles, a tangled mass of feathers,
ferris wheels in the air
as they traverse gabled roofs,
alight leaf-laden tree branches
and up again,
vanish into the azure sky —

Have you witnessed nature’s chase?

There is a time
for playful pursuit,
a time
for slowing down,
to gaze into each other’s eyes,
walk hand in hand,
vanish
into the emerald forest.

D. G. Vachal © 2025

Image by Flo222 @pixabay

I Must Go to the Fields Again

I Must Go to the Fields Again

I must go to the fields again,
the emerald sea of grass,
the dazzling blaze
of a million wildflowers —

I return from a journey
of innumerable seasons,
my heart is parched from the frost
of manifold winters —

I must go to the fields again
there will I shed the tears
withheld
by silent sorrows,
release the laughter
of irrepressible joys.

I must go to the fields again —
I must go back home.

D. G. Vachal © 2025

Image by Irma Web @pixabay