About the Book Fall Walk
I still remember what the farm looked like In the Fall when we were young. We would walk To the farthest pasture, a one-mile hike, And on the way we'd hardly ever talk.
Late November, and each night Winter's vice Grew tighter on what leaves were left to brown. The water in the lane-ruts turned to ice That broke and tinkled when our boots came down.
The only warm-colored thing was one spruce Near the orchard. The apple boughs were bare, And as we breathed it seemed the smell of juice Still lingered in the taste of morning air.
Careless we ate the air and drank the light For the last time before the world turned white.

About the Author Fred Cogswell
Recently awarded the Alden Nowlan Award for excellence in English-language literature by the New Brunswick Legislative Assembly, Fred Cogswell is widely known as once editor of The Fiddlehead and publisher of Fiddlehead Poetry Books, as a leading Canadian Poet and critic, and as a translator, including The Complete Poems of Emile Nelligan. His own poetry has been much published and translated abroad.

Also by the Author The Vision of Fred: friend of poets / amis de poètes (2004)
Deeper Than Mind (2001)
With Vision Added (2000)
Double Question (1998)
Folds (1997)
In My Own Growing (1993)
When the Right Light Shines (1992)
Watching an Eagle (1991)
Black and White Tapestry (1988)