October 19, 2003

It’s raining leaves—yellow maples,
fluttering toward fertilizing the earth—
Burgundy oaks, waiting to become
part of the crunchiness underfoot,
Scarlet sumacs, punctuating
the dullness of leaves trampled and nestled together,
waiting for the first frost to cover them with icy tendrils,
decorating their edges
like icing decorating slices of cake.

The sun dapples leaves waiting to fall;
the wind helps the willow do her frantic hula.
Calling forth the stinging winds of winter,
the joined leaves and swaying branches
signal that the time of quiet darkness fast approaches,
and that the time for introspection and rest
are fast at hand.
Soon the time will change,
the leaves will finish carpeting the earth, and
I will revel in being indoors and at peace.