City Autumn


The air breathes frost.  A thin wind beats

Old dust and papers down grey streets

And blows brown leaves with curled up edges

At frighened sparrows on window ledges.

A snowflake falls like an errant feather:

A vagabond draws his cloak together,

And an old man totters past with a cane

Wondering if he'll see spring again.

-joseph moncure march


I shot this feather photograph on a hike last week, not in the city but it made me think of this poem.


Post by Kerry MacLeod :