Air dances across brown wilting leaves
whispering secrets of yesterday, today, tomorrow
like school children circled, lips cupped from ear to ear
repeating a sentence from one to another
each telling different, each unique,
coming full circle to a new beginning.
And so wind whispers to the bumble bee
as it suckles at the sweet harvest of the purple morning glory
preparing seedlings for another year.
She teases native grasses into dancing to and fro
sending an invitation to the birds — stay for a while,
twirl with me across the dance floor of emeralds, topaz and creams,
in the heart of fractured light cast by orb falling lower and lower on the horizon.
Leaves rustle a quiet murmur of crispness
as she tenderly unfolds her playful strength lifting, twirling them to new heights.
Wind sings a sweet soothing lullaby meant to carry all
into warm sleep of season’s end and new beginnings.
Jennifer Smith Turner and her husband Eric recently moved to the Island full-time. Jennifer has been writing poetry since she was a child. She has two published books of poetry and is currently working on a third book and a collection of short stories.