"Autumn On the San Marcos River" by Oscar Houck

Autumn On the San Marcos River

To live this close to

the consolation of moving water is

to be given the keys to a cathedral where

the day’s last light drifts down through the branches of bare trees

like mist, to the mirror of the surface

in silver and cerulean blue ripples reflected as if

stained glass windows made of clouds and sky

had fallen, softly shattered, from above. The air today

is fine, cool and crisp and dry, the smoky scent

of fallen leaves, the past, the hint of winter to come.

Yellow gold, the color of Van Gogh’s wheat fields

flashes like lightning beneath the surface

over limestone, sand and shadows.

There is no greater beauty than what’s clear and cold.