With Charcoal Black
Ken Allan Dronsfield
Today Iīll travel to the swamp and wood
to do a little autumn sketching for my
painting projects during the cold winter.
As I pack my thermos and bag, I see
snail trails leaving the autumn garden;
cooler breezes beget browner grasses;
lichen and moss cover the old stone wall,
I swear a little chipmunk ran by just now.
Crows are busy in their murder covens.
The songbirds leave daily for warm skies
Smells of the forest still musty and damp
colored leaves fall, a winterīs quilt woven
Ice sheets now form in the ponds as geese
happily swim throughout coolish waters.
It wonīt be long before frogs and turtles
hibernate until the Spring solstice arrives
A puff on the pipe, and a sip from the flask,
take out my sketch pad from the canvas bag.
Itīs time to capture, using a charcoal black,
the precious moments on this autumn day.