Trees drop
their leaves
Like a body
ridding itself
Of some
terrible, beautiful disease.
I envy them
both
This brief
and wild dance
Of a
summer's pace --
That lapses
into
Fall's fiery
parting.
When the
leaves rattle and shake
Their rage
rendered visible
In
explosions of color. Their
Desire to
remain attached
Is palpable.
They seem
Unwilling,
as yet, to "move on" --
To depart
from beloved trees.
Jealous, as
they are, to
Share those
same branches
With
winter's embrace; who
Would weigh
them down,
Clinging,
lounging, coating
The
stiffened limbs.
Claiming
every inch of
The scarred,
crooked boughs.
Because
leaves have worked
Tirelessly
in their golden season
To nurture
these bark-covered beings,
And learn to
speak the soft,
Lovely
language embodied in
The wisdom
of reciprocity.
It is not in
the leaving
That we
should be
Brought to
shed tears,
But the aftermath
of
Desolation, the
stillness --
The arrival
of that
Deep, quiet, lonely season
Which
initiates our fears.
