by Thomas J Camp
Why, in autumn, do leaves await the morning time?
Is there a requirement that the Rooster crow to announce the event?
Or does the bustle on the forest floor,
Where the deer and rabbit find their way,
Need to prepare somehow.
Just like we may do, for a holiday?
Trotting softly amongst the trees,
The ground lies bare beneath my steed.
The pace is slowed on well-trodden trails.
Except for the occasional broken bark or limb,
Lying listless upon the sandy loam.
Leaves of rustling crimson loom over head,
Their soft shadows filter the fading daylight.
They are in obvious accord with one another.
It’s not their time to let go.
Ominously through the light evening breezes,
The bristling leaves bear the increasing seizes
Of tiny droplets upon their fragile stems so tall.
Under the moonlight they strain
Against the Omni-potent pull of Sir Isaac Newton’s law.
As dawn rises thru the light morning mist,
Sun beams deliver their radiance and warmth,
And caress autumn leaves with a gentle kiss.
A sparkle of essence awakens nearest,
The prize is quickly grasped by rested drops of dew,
And not knowing what to do,
Soon expire to the atmosphere,
From which they are derived,
And take their place amongst the cirrus.
Now released from their burden,
The leaves stretch upward without effort,
In artful defiance of the naked woodland floor.
The moment has arrived, the waiting is no more!
They lift up as if to sigh, and pay homage to the sky.
And with their final resolve determined,
In that moment, without resistance,
They simply let go, as if to die.
Anticipating the inevitable precipitous fall,
They have conspired a gracious ballet!
A spectacular display of cascading, swirling dance,
With Rhythmic fantasies orchestrated by Calais!
A grand finale amongst grasshoppers and ants.
A graceful display of crimson, silver, saffron and gold,
Impressing even the Rajahs of Old!
But then, at what would appear the end of their journey,
Euros’ Cool breezes quickly lend a hand and create a new sight.
Rising up again, as if by chance, an aerobatic pretension of flight!
This humors the sparrows and butterflies alike.
But alas, a pre-determined descent nonetheless brief,
As the passing formation of honking snow geese.
A descent on the lightest and most fickle of winds,
That passes by way of tree tops and limbs,
And then with a curtsey and final swirl to the ground.
To greet earth worms and grubs
That crawls amongst the darkest surrounds.
Heaping upon the fertile compost,
In soft supple Piles,
Stirred by the wind,
Resolved by the rain,
Soon to be dirt.
The worms create their mounds.
They make their contribution to Life’s endless ballet.
One in which we all participate,
Some willing and some not so willing,
As such is the way.
This much we share In common.
Gold and crimson autumn leaves,
like snowflakes fall.
And so must we all.
Last updated April 23, 2015