Where We Go To Find Deer

Haunting hums push through like fogs inside of aspen groves
Where we stand between fallen leaves and icy exhalations:
Here we are. Feet find each dried leaf, but soft
What light through upper reaches sounds something
Like dove calls muffled under a blanket of solitude.
And hum: Where are the deer who said they’d be here?

Whether the light is brown or gold or orange or yellow,
It’s autumn under the seeping sunlight’s rays of fallen
Summertimes. The sounds of petals scraping atmosphere,
Hitting needle beds and game trails find us where
Our hums turn into river runs: Crash, splash, whispers.

So sit amongst the dusty demons and wrestle in the eaves
Until frosty breaths meet a dusky hue suitable
For evenings and moonlight and haunted harangues
Led by hoots and hums: Now just sounds in the darkness.

Autumn airs bring subtle shifts in seasons past and synonyms
For chill. Under stars and under trees, the world barely moves
But for crickets and dark hums: And night begins to freeze.

Movements are soft on top of frosted leaves and under the ease of autumn evening —
Hums and hoofbeats rustle every time: Right where we said we’d be.

Hooves hum hello; antlers find Andromeda: Crash, splash, whispers.