Sandhill cranes again
as every autumn ever
float over our fields.
Exiles, always calling
their lost and lonely plaint.
Drifting, always searching
a place to rest, a scattering
of grain not gathered in.
Gleaning, always mourning,
like us, the coming chill.
Shadows of autumn
gliding, all too briefly,
over our land and gone.
We're left to mourn alone
the chilling, biting winds.
Image by ladymacbeth — Pixabay
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Published by Christine Goodnough
I'm a wife, mom & grandma, homemaker, avid reader, blogger, and nature lover enjoying country living. I write short stories, poems, and share life experiences, adding a dash of humor whenever I can.
View all posts by Christine Goodnough
It’s already chilly here, freezing at nights. And they say this is the last really warm day. The temp will hover around freezing point now. But no rain, no snow.
Christine's Collection 
Brrr. It’s coming, isn’t it?
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s already chilly here, freezing at nights. And they say this is the last really warm day. The temp will hover around freezing point now. But no rain, no snow.
LikeLiked by 1 person