Iowa Autumn
Suddenly it’s September.
The locusts are humming their familiar winter forecast.
These last hot, muggy “Indian” summer days
Iowa seems so dull and plodding.
Enclosed in safe, shuttered sameness.
Here it seems the only seasons change to entertain, inspire,
Or to interrupt the repetition of our passing years.
A sameness, timed to the turning of the earth
The habits of the sun connected deeply to the land.
Autumn follows summer with comforting predictability..
The leaves turn red, orange and gold.
The night sky shines with ancient and predictable sparkle
The squirrels scamper across our brown lawns and busy streets
Risking life and bushy tails to ready their nests for winter.
And being “seasoned” Iowans we clean and line our nests
Preparing ourselves for the time when the rich land about us
Takes a well-earned rest beneath welcome blankets of ice and snow.
We know with certainty winter will come.
These changes our souls have learned to trust.
So we wait while fuzzy caterpillars
Relish the bounty of our kitchen gardens and
Grasshoppers dance in the brittle weeds.
Almost eagerly we anticipate sweatshirt days
Walks in a crunchy carpet of leaves
And crisp, juicy apples from a back yard tree.
Iowa autumn. Bring it on.
We’re ready and we pray that the change of seasons
We love and trust will ever be the same.
Changeless and in this world of constant change.
2025 revised
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