iPhone Diaries #428: "Hostas on the front yard"

Hostas, a boring drab green and white in the summer, "come to life" in the fall, exploding in colours as the leaves "die down" for the winter. Hostas on the front yard ringed with frost.

Autumn is like an old book;

Marred spines turn mean yellow,

staples rust red-orange.

Every stained page is stressed

by a splat of color. Rough-red

like an old tavern,

we become hungry birds

and prepared for fall.

Shape and shadow are candied citron

as a lantern turns bitter yellow. Autumn

is a red fox, a goblet filled with dark wine,

a hot chilli pepper with smoky eyes.

Pressed leaves take in the colors

of seafood paella and saffron; these leaves

are like death, climaxing with a smile.

Autumn: her dress is a net of mussels;

dark shelled, it covers up

summer's weatherbeaten body.

So pull out your boots

and stand on an aged, wood floor

like an evergreen.

"Autumn" by Mary Hamrick

                                              Oct 29th.