Evelyn Judy Buehler

March 18, 1953 - Chicago
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Sienna in Season

I was a productive, proficient painter, long captivated by the manifold colors,
An infinite parade of hues and intensities, like tales of a thousand summers.

I worked daily at this irresistible passion, which made long, golden hours fly,
As sun stains skies in its final burst of passion, prior to a pretty day going by.

My creative work was quite rewarding, granting such joys of self expression,
Like rare pearl thrills often derived, from fragrant, dusky moonlight sessions.

Faithful spring faded, with fond memories of buds, when friends came to call,
Like the times when sanguine sunrise visited, with crimson roses on the wall.

Familiar family faces were a feature of noon, before the fitful shadow finesse,
Like the hour that all of nature scatters, in search of a new sunshine address.

I lived in the house of still glamour, with painted leaves on the roof and lawn,
As stylish, gnarly trees conveyed gaiety, to offset pretty bluebirds being gone.

Time stood still when strawberry sunrise, stole silver shadows from my street,
Like hours when time's gone wandering, when we're lost in dreams so sweet.

Neighbors napped at notorious noon, upon neat, nifty porches of nasturtiums,
Then came visiting in the midafternoon, when people followed faster rhythms.

Distinct, beneficent seasons had changed, in the timeless, longstanding way;
And blooms had turned dark, rich colors, like burgundy sky at the end of day.

Scarecrow sentries kept watch all night, over nature's riches, orange and red,
Like the voiceless, multi-faceted rainbow, conveying joy, with so much unsaid.

One day while walking past windy woods, I admired wild, pretty colors flying,
In the sunshine drama of the very moment, when blue seasons were sighing.

Passing a field, I saw a giant pile of leaves whirling. Then a woman emerged,
Garbed in red, purple and yellow, chocolate brown eyes gazing, unperturbed.

'My name is Sienna,' she suddenly, startlingly said, seizing my attention fully;
'And I am autumn itself,' she declared, as November skies looked down dully.

'My breath is in chill winds, and my colors reside in fallen leaves and blooms,'
Sienna told me, among other things, in serene hours of varicolored showers.

We talked of pale, yellow sunshine sheen, and of missing redbirds and green,
And we agreed that even so, autumn remains the loveliest season ever seen!

Stunning Sienna smiled, waving, in the scenic season of sentimental goodbye,
But, I shed no tears, for how can one cry, when beauteous nature is nearby?
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