Category: Seasons

November the Penultimate


November the Penultimate

Never was a month so motley in its days:
November, penultimate month
of a year that frames the seasons,
when leaves in early days
turn to brightest garnet,
blazing topaz,
illuminated gold —

the latter days arrive
with the fire of the winds,
and the burning leaves take the plunge
from infernal towers of the branches
to the burial grounds of a gun-
metal, brumal earth —

November, November,
calves ache from the marathon,
hearts pound the door
to another December

when holly berries huddle upon the petals
of the soft-spoken snow,
and the fallen leaves breathe again
at the sound of the carols of the children,
the children rejoicing.

D. G. Vachal © 2013

Photography Credit: November’s Decline by Bucaneve

The Years, My Friend

Winter by Farhad
The Years, My Friend

The years, my friend, have not been kind
upon your marble face —

I hear the river songs
tinkle with the cymbals,
I see your eyes shrivel
like unpicked grapes on the vine,
your mouth a wounded cherry
pecked by restless robins.

Take my hand, my friend,
let us go to the calling fields
that blaze with diamonds
under the eternal skies,
to the orchards in the midst of winter,
where leafless branches stand dauntless
in the endless cold,
telling jubilant tales
in the blizzard of their days —

Hearken to the legends
of root, of bud, of sun,
and to the promise
(believe the promise)
that warmth and springtime
will return,
(they always return)
once again.

by D. G. Vachal © 2013, 2025

*** Photography by Farhad

Waxing Moon and Summer’s Farewell

Waxing Moon and Summer’s Farewell

How swiftly the season turns:
moment passes by another moment
as in my elusive nighttime dreams,
all the while the ardor for life abides
though cooler breezes quench
the noonday fires —

I hear summer’s last melodies
edged with change
cedar waxwings whistle among the birches,
the meadow edge
hums with crickets and katydids,
mourning doves croon their yearning calls
into the twilight air —

evening approaches:
a waxing half moon sheds silver threads
upon the garden fronds,
forest trees cast blurred shadows,
open fields lie platinum pale
half radiant, half shrouded,
inlet waters quietly flow
into their appointed oceans
in albescent half-light —

last day of August
I stand at the precipice of summer’s departure
on a quarter moon evening,
revealing yet secretive
of what approaching Autumn holds.

D. G. Vachal © 2025

Image by W.carter, CC0, 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

Colors of Summer

Colors of Summer

My love, summer colors
bloom with the glow we have known
through the years
beside you I stand
bone of your bones,
flesh of your flesh
as in the wondrous days of Eden —

Take me to the dance
of asters and anemones
as we waltz with the westerly wind,
warble with song sparrows,
soar with the laughter of seagulls
above iridescent sand dunes
of northeastern shores —

these very moments

while the grass teems with greenness,
imperceptibly
the August warmth turns celadon
clusters of grapes
into purple,
ripe for wine harvest.

D. G. Vachal © 2025

Image by Jplenio@Pixabay