Autumn Interchange

It's harder now to find the Fall,
time takes the fast lane,
days blur by, 
the city only slows 
for congestion.

Observed from air conditioned cars
the seasons, blended, lose their savour,
greenhouse winters,
scattered springs,
summers spoiled by South Americans called El.

And autumn's melancholy magic,
left behind,
seems tired and depressed,
its slow and subtle godspell lost
on trees that cannot change.

When I was young
the highway promised
endless possibilities,
but failed, exhausted,
choked with guilt, 
and never gained its goal. 

Perhaps I'll try the turn off 
to the via negativa,
the path of letting go,
a lenten road through 
Easter's night,
where leaden sacrifice transmutes 
to a rising, blaze of gold.



(C) Copyright March, 2000
Andrew Charles Dallaston
All Rights Reserved