Autumn at Blenheim

The path curves so slightly to the left
overshadowed by still branches, and behind
the enormous bridge, dark wings lift above the trees.

The birds are leaving now as the first leaves fall.
Late afternoon sun makes warmth more precious.
From the arch of light beneath the bridge
sunlight bathes her face.

We remember rain all summer,
the grey procession of days, only the brief
flame of roses to ignite the eye.

By the lake we lie so close to the swans
moving in silhouette, in the misted distance
a man calls his dog, his voice insistent
calling in silence.

A man and a woman are walking above
and like the swans are silhouettes.
The migrant birds are crowding above them
while our son is suckling beside me
his mother's face crossed by light.

Inside I am drinking clear water,
thirst quenched, first drop to last,
limbs stretched, holding the warm sun,
watching the geese turn south.

  -- David Whyte
      from Where Many Rivers Meet
     © 1990 Many Rivers Press