Autumn Faces

Bartek/AdobeStock

Today, in late August,

we sit by the lake,

eat a tart orange

and watch sailboats

navigate

the shifting winds.

The season pivots

and bends

to the darkening north.

The sailboats tack

to what the season

sends.

At our feet,

we find a maple leaf

of blazing orange-red,

summer’s life

no longer flowing

in its veins.

Our eyes meet,

and for a moment,

we hold our breath,

stilled

by this marriage

of beauty and death.

Back home,

we glimpse

our autumn faces

in the hallway mirror.

We sigh, then smile

at what the season

reflects.

We clean

last winter’s traces

from the wood stove,

knowing

what’s coming next.

Dr Pies would like to thank Richard Berlin, MD, for his helpful comments on this poem.

Dr Pies is professor emeritus of psychiatry and lecturer on bioethics and humanities, SUNY Upstate Medical University; clinical professor of psychiatry emeritus, Tufts University School of Medicine; and editor in chief emeritus of Psychiatric Times (2007-2010). Dr Pies is the author of several books.