Editor’s Note: It is Fall in Virginia’s Piedmont, and Arrias has released his poetic muse to capture the magic of the season. Expect a complete volume of his verse.
– Vic
The Artist Speaks
I have never seen the leaves so bright,
I’ve never seen such a glorious fall,
Reds and greens and gold,
More brilliant than e’er I recall.
And as they fall, the trees thin out,
Golden sunlight streams on through,
And up above in all its glory
A clear sky, cerulean blue.
Golden leaves in all nature’s glory,
In a light breeze shimmer and quake,
A kaleidoscope of color and light,
Seemingly created all for my sake.
How do I thank thee Lord for all this beauty,
This magnificent, breathtaking display?
The Greatest of Artists has spoken,
Your beauty sweeps me away.
Meadowlarks Sing
Quaking aspens give way to snow,
Winter on the high plain,
Cold winds blow and blow,
Grays and browns remain.
Soon there comes cold, cold days,
And long, dark cold nights,
Crisp blue skies, high thin clouds,
How that north wind bites.
Mountains covered in thick white,
Winter now in command,
A deep blanket of snow
Now covers all the land.
But under the snow soil renews,
And in our retreat we wait for spring,
From Varykino our sanctuary
We shall hear the Meadowlarks sing.
Shenandoah Autumn
Blue mountains are now covered
In the colors of the rainbow,
Reds, oranges, gold and green,
The Valley’s breathtaking show.
Through the farms the river wanders,
Past barn and verdant field,
Under the watch of ancient Mountains,
Crops all in, gracious nature’s yield.
Idyllic country lanes,
Lined by trees of gold and red,
Fields now still for winter,
Almost as if they’re dead.
But buzzards high o’erhead,
Turn circles against an azure dome,
Searching for prey in those same fields,
Midst clumps of recently turned loam.
And in the cool, crisp mornings,
On roads that carried Washington’s coach,
The seasons’ cycle continues
Heavy frosts warn of winter’s approach.
More people now, but still the farms,
People and the land connected, whole,
Secluded, serene, peaceful,
And a Refuge for our soul.
Washington and Jefferson knew the Shenandoah,
Summer, winter, spring and fall,
Knew the beauty of its seasons;
We can still hear – and see – its siren’s call.
Copyright 2021 Arrias
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