Saturday, December 5, 2020

The Daily Transmutation

The park has shifted timelines—
Red trees and berries, grandiose reeds.
The duck pond is no more, the willows are
As if they never were. Remembered flowers
Are a blur on fields of grey debris and dirt.

Oscar the crow is gone. The gnomes have left
For living rooms warmed by home decor.
The last brown leaves hang in the sky 
On an oak that leans like a dancer,
Strings of balls like earrings dangling down.

The light is different every day
And each singular nuance of sun
Reveals something of the trees and hillside,
This place on the earth, this time of the day,
This region of year, December, changing color.

The particular pattern on the birch
Moves in the sun like an animal,
The specific shade and shape of brown
Becomes clear enough to be recognized 
As real, in the light where it's finally seen.