In the Thinness of the Autumn Air by T.P. Bird

In the thinness of the autumn air—

no longer smothered in the denseness

of summer’s humidity—we pulled on

sweaters or light coats and plunged

into fallen leaves of red and gold;

all nature’s colors made stronger,

brighter—like the autumn sky with its

unabated blue.

We raked and piled—

only to burst them apart with mighty,

unfettered cries of childhood joy, the

acrid smell of dried leaves in our nose

and captured in the material of our

clothes, and the hair on our heads;

parents always knew the chronicle of

our childhood day. Later, adults

would also rake and pile, yet would

not plunge, but burn our played-out

leaves in a ritual performed in the

days between winter coming and

summer past. Pungent smoke filled

the thinness of the autumn air, the

neighborhood scented with the raw

fragrance of this dynamic season.

Yet, now in fearful & disenchanted

times, bitter smoke has been sent

away. Dry leaves are stored in big

plastic bags—dispatched to lonely,

unknown places. I seldom see kids

kicking and jumping in autumn

leaves of red and gold; they too

seem exiled—perhaps to cyberspace

game-rooms and organized play—

seldom experiencing sights, sounds,

and smells that abound in the

thinness of autumn air.

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T.P. Bird has published in a number of Lit Journals, and has a chapbook, Scenes and Speculations (Finishing Line Press), another, 'Mystery and Imperfection' (Kalsey Books) due in June '21. In addition a full collection, 'Somewhere Beyond the Body' (Wipf & Stock) is forthcoming.