Blurred

In evening light at still of day

Trees shadows are sweeping time away.

A man through his window sees it all

The fading blue, the shadow fall.


At the upper edge of vision

Perfect pearl, fine precision

As hidden jewel in tapestry

Shines an orb through fingers of trees.


Two thirds round, white edge sharp, clean

The last part blurs into the unseen.

Precise imperfection, edged and blurred

But The Pearl Setter has not erred.


Leaves

How they have fallen,

Laying thick.

Pressing down the jostling grass

Under them.

Obliterating it from sight.


Their browns and yellows

Brighter than the grey above.

Achieving a moment of glory,

In death a dominance.


Looking up to freed branches

Framing veiled light.

Had they thought to fly,

Letting go their source of life?

How they have fallen.