Tail end of autumn

in-between time

bare maple branches

scattered dry leaves

A young bear pushes his nose

into heaped  litter

poking through for acorns

coyotes howl in late afternoon

Scattered red berries

dried purple grapes

winter hasn’t emerged yet

although she’s expected

garden plots have been cleared

in anticipation of her arrival

like the tide line between sand and sea

November separates seasons

Of life pushing out of seed and egg

before returning to ground

November waits for those last geese to fly

holds her cards close to her chest

Listen to water ripple against the shore

and honor Manannán Mac Lir

I have not beaten gold into form

but I place an offering in the water

Manannán Mac Lir is an Irish God, and the small golden boat ( circa 100 BC) is part the Broighter Hoard from the first century BC. This offering was found in 1896. It’s now in the National Museum in Dublin. This beaten gold boat is small enough to fit in in my hand.



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About elainereardon

Poet, writer, gardener, herbalist, pottery, painting—bumping into magic, peeking around new corners.
This entry was posted in nature, Poems, poetry November. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to November

  1. Your poem is like music. Flows…

    Liked by 1 person

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