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Posts Tagged ‘fall foliage’

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Life goes on.
You can bend back with
Reflections.

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The photo is mine of a view near the Green River Covered Bridge,
Guilford, Vermont.

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* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/
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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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Fall highway,
The Kancamangus.
Short – The Kanc.

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The photo is mine on the Kancamangus highway that
goes through the White Mountains of New Hampshire.

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* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/
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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2019.

 

 

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From one bridge
To another one
In the fall.

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The photo is mine, taken from the Worrall Covered Bridge
near Rockingham, Vermont.

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* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/
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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

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The cypress trees that line the river’s banks
Don’t bow like sycophants, but standing tall
Drink deeply from its waters, giving thanks,
Change to a colored ribbon in the fall. 

Distinction then is clearly made between
Those favored watered trees and lesser kin.
The river’s snaking path is clearly seen
By pattern of its leafy autumn skin. 

The revelation is a doubled truth:
It twists and turns because the tough it shuns.
It seeks an ease as never-ending sleuth,
For low is where the lazy water runs. 

The path of least resistance sluggards take
If in their beds they ever stir and wake.

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The photo is mine, of the Guadalupe River in Texas.

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

 

 

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It’s useful,
And New England’s charm –
Covered bridge.

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The photo is mine, taken on a fall foliage trip through New England.
Built in 1872, the bridge is the longest covered bridge entirely in Vermont.

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* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

   See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/
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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

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By my road
Was the river road
Paved with leaves.

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The photo is mine, taken in 2017 during a trip to the Northeast to see the fall foliage.

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* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/
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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

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The child in all of us takes great delight
When we are wakened from long summer’s night
To find we slept-walked past that season’s hall
And woke up in the crayon box of Fall.

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The photo is mine, of Quechee Gorge at Hartford, Vermont.
It was taken in early October of this year (2017).

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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I love the slowness of the autumn rain
That does not pelt like bullets from a storm,
But floats like languid butterflies to gain
A waiting blossom, landing without harm. 

I love the ambience of autumn rain
That falls between the glaring summer sun
And harshness of the winter’s frigid pain –
A yearly brilliance that does always stun.

I love the colors of the autumn rain,
When north winds shake the clouds that once were green
And from them fall the leaves that entertain
And soothe our lives till they become serene.

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The photo is mine, taken in Vermont (I think) this fall.

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

 

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In trees I walked at Smoky’s feet,
And calm the forest floor.
‘Twas late October and the leaves
All Autumn’s colors wore.

It rained a bit the night before,
And though the earth was damp,
My shoes did not pick up the mud
While on my silent tramp.

The fallen leaves well-paved my path;
They made a yellow way
That Dorothy’d been proud to walk
In Oz in her brief stay.

The leaf-laid carpet and that trail
‘Twas all my eyes could see,
The forest closed out all the world
And I was cloistered, free.

There was a great serenity
With Nature as I walked.
I listened as my soft steps fell,
And as the forest talked.

I passed a stream; it gurgled peace,
Caught drops of last night’s rain –
A few that fin’lly fell – but why?
(The reason not yet plain.)

I saw another mystery;
It struck me as most odd.
A leaf, then two, came floating down
As slow as turtles plod.

I saw then, out among the trees,
One here, another there.
First glance, they seemed like butterflies
With wings in disrepair.

They did not scurry, did not slant;
Their vertical was straight,
As if they were a dropping stone –
And yet they had no weight.

I took the line of their descent;
Gazed upward where the trees
All disappeared from sight by height –
And then I saw the breeze!

And then I knew why raindrops fell
When there was no more mist,
And why the leaves were shaken loose
But fell without a twist.

How isolated I felt then!
The world was not about.
And now I knew that Nature, too,
E’en Nature had shut out.

Like spiders coming down a strand,
The leaves did downward crawl.
And watching their descent I knew
Why men call Autumn, Fall.

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The photo is mine and was taken in Smoky Mt. National Park.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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Gray ghosts afar, like elephants,
More massive than the men
Who gaze with awe upon the wall
That rises from earth’s den. 

Green-coated shoulders, forest feet –
The sight as one draws near;
And donned in Autumn – Joseph’s coat,
That jealous brothers jeer. 

Ridged behemoth, cloaked dinosaur
Whose crested, arching back
We crawl upon like helpless ants,
So tiny in attack. 

Receding Nature’s safe preserve,
The soul’s would-be retreat
If one finds how to get away
From all the other feet.


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The photo is mine, taken on a trip through Smoky Mountains
National Park last month (Oct., 2015).

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

 

 

 

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