Goldenrod and September Signs: Thistledown, Harvest, and Autumn Winds

September 23, 2019

On this crisp October evening, as goldenrod bows beneath the cooling sun and the scent of fallen leaves reminds us that summer’s laughter has finally quieted, I find two poems that seem to catch the very breath of the season.

They are the kind of verses one should read aloud by the garden gate, with a sweater drawn tight and a cup of tea steaming beside a fading chrysanthemum.

When the goldenrod is yellow,
And leaves are turning brown -
Reluctantly the summer goes
In a cloud of thistledown.

When squirrels are harvesting
And birds in flight appear -
By these autumn signs, we know
that September days are here.

– Beverly Ashour, September

Beverly Ashour writes as if she is watching the year take its final bow — the goldenrod a gilded escort to the door of summer.

Her lines remind us that every gardener must make peace with parting. The garden, after all, does not mourn; it merely slips into rest, gathering strength for spring’s reunion.

That “cloud of thistledown” becomes a kind of benediction — soft, silvery farewells drifting across the withered meadow.

The back door
bangs shut!
September gust.

– Mike Garofalo, Cuttings: Haiku, Concrete, and Short Poems

And then there is Garofalo's haiku — three quick strikes of autumn’s hammer.

No sentiment, no description, just the visceral note of the season sent through the spine of every household garden.

You can almost hear it: the back door slamming against the first cool wind, the sharp punctuation of change.

Together, these poems stand as quiet companions — one wistful, one abrupt — yet both capture autumn’s truth. Beneath all its golden beauty lies motion: a pulse, a turn, a breath between seasons.

For us gardeners, it is the time to pause and listen, to feel the hush descend as the garden exhales.

Let the door bang. Let the gold fade.

And may your heart, like the thistledown, travel lightly into the new season ahead.