Thursday, September 5, 2019

Cicadas



Autumn creeps into the Blue Ridge Mountains,
nature dips her paintbrush
into a bucket of gold
and highlights the walnut leaves.

The morning sun shimmies
through the tree-filtered light,
three white-tailed deer
forage in the cornfield.

On Brasstown Bald,
the buzzing of cicadas,
males shake their drums;
each makes its own song.

Golden rods sway on a breeze,
stars shine in dusty lilac asters;
beneath the Full Harvest Moon,
katydids saw their fiddles.
                                Brenda Kay Ledford

I give my sister, Barbara, credit for doing research on cicadas.




                 I wish my blogger friends a happy and beautiful fall!
                                            Brenda

7 comments:

Ruth Hiebert said...

Beautiful fall scenes and verse.

lil red hen said...

Thank you Brenda for this lovely poem. Lots of fall yellows and purples around the hay fields.

magnoliasntea said...

Lovely poem, Brenda! I especially like the "shimmie" of morning sunlight through the trees.
Excellent.
Have a great weekend!
Toni

Hill Top Post said...

How beautifully your poem tells of this lovely time of year. For several days, when I took my late afternoon walks, the cicadas' songs were almost deafening, but now that the heat has returned they are hushed.

Elaine/Muddling Through said...

Your photographs are beautiful and your poem delightful! We hear the cicadas play here, too, believe it or not.

Connie said...

Happy fall, Brenda! Your photos and poem capture the season perfectly.

BVLW said...

You've opened my senses to the drum beat of the cicadas and the brilliance of the Golden Rods. Thank you for your vivid painting in picture and verse.
bvlw

Cicadas

Autumn creeps into the Blue Ridge Mountains, nature dips her paintbrush into a bucket of gold and highlights the walnut leaves. The...