Chimes in Autumn

Music of the Spheres

I wish you could hear my wind chimes,

the soundtrack of my writing life.

Beyond them, the high-decibel din

of yard crews in the neighborhood,

the rubber-rush of the occasional car

on smooth asphalt,

the barks and yaps of dogs of various sizes.

Two boys riding bikes,

calling to each other from either side of the street;

my son is one of them.

A front door closing, a rustle of leaves.

Look how they tremble on their branches.

Autumn comes late here, if at all.

The leaves turn yellow-green and hold on

against the pentatonic breeze that

threatens and soothes us, respectively.