Autumn Morning by the St. Croix

Silver birches

stand watch alone

like ermine-clad nobles

As morning’s brilliant orb

turns the river to liquid gold,

and frosted paths shimmer with fallen jewels

of red, orange, yellow.

Surely, here,

there is enough beauty to dazzle,

and riches enough

to buy our allegiance;

Yet no gaudy show of power

ever forces knee or heart.

Beauty whispers

quietly

her call.

We may pass her by,

or trample her treasures underfoot.

We may throw her a brief, admiring glance.

Or,

stopping to stare

long enough,

our eyes may be opened to glory,

our ears to wisdom,

and our hearts to love.

And, while morning’s golden mist

swirls with echoes

of one final far-off season’s change

- of gilt city, glassy sea and great white throne -

and as the river offers

its glistening Holy Cross for royal sceptre

So, showered with autumn’s confetti,

may our kneeling words be:

“Beloved, I am yours.

With my affection I crown you.”

And, rising,

we may take with us

- sign and token

gift and promise -

one ruby-red leaf

with icy diamonds encircled.

Rachael Barham, Friday 30^th October 2009,

St. Stephen, New Brunswick.

(a poem I wrote last year and that comes back to me as the season offers itself to us again)