It’s afternoon. You’re going to the wood
To breathe this air, filled with mocked hopes and dreamings.
Under deciduous trees so long you stood
Considing, pondering, ’till teas were streaming.
And your loud cries the silent wood absorbed,
It was so quiet like anechoic chamber;
It listened, cheered you up, but you just turned.
It is September, said the wood, it is September.
Then you looked up and saw the leafage fall
And recognized the colors, warm and tenuous.
Brown, yellow, orange, green, and red, and all,
Just falling over you, enchanting, fabulous.
Enveloped by the smell that slowly scattered,
I'm in my bed now, having fever and headache, coughing. I've also got a Santa-like-nose.
And after my dentist made my teeth (nine of them. NINE!), I don't really know how to manage that amount of pain.
I'm worried about the trip to Russia my husband and me are going to make next week...