Linda Brody Bakst on Brooklyn, growing up, identity and more
Everything was glowing.
A golden light cast
through the trees,
peeking around the clouds;
gilding leaves, grass,
the very air.
THIS is the gloaming.
Late October,
the sun low,
the air soft,
the breeze blowing through my graying, wild hair.
Red, yellow, russet, orange leaves,
shimmering against the fading blue sky.
Fallen dried leaves dancing,
scraping across the pavement.
I wanted to share the beauty,
but I was alone.
I wanted to bottle it,
for later,
when I needed it.
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Really nice.
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Beautiful poetry. Picture is lovely but you captured the scene in your poem. Inspiring
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Thanks, Mom.
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Real poetry. You capture the moment with all the signs, sounds and smells. Doesn’t even need the picture
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It was as if I was there. You made the beautiful and vibrant fall scene come to life on the page. I found myself wanting the poem to go on and on as I did not want to leave that peaceful, inspiring natural cathedral.
Thank you for taking us to that place.
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You captured it beautifully Linda. I felt I was there. Very uplifting at a time we all need it.
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