by on June 9, 2023 :: 0 comments

On a fall walk, the leaves drift between us
Lazy, one or two at a time. Autumn
Is bliss till the sleet stings. This afternoon
The sun is a soft haze, now orange, now
Gold, like we are in a film called Perfect
, and we chat of this and that, your week
And mine; love has that substance sometimes, all
The sweeter, silent.

Out of the blue we stare at a maple
Tree losing two thirds of its leaves from one
Strong wind. You say “If only it was that
Easy, if our past would just leap free. Gone.”
And I nod, wishing it were true….except
What would we change, and which leaves keep? All of
Of us have mistakes we just say we rue;
Stuff we’d dearly love another crack at.

Memory paints some things golden and sweeps
Other thoughts away. For all that we know
The maple tree regrets each strong fall wind,
And misses each tender shoot, each branch no
Matter how frail, each leaf heavenly green
In summer, in autumn, the eye’s delight,
Yellow, gold, orange, russet: reminders
Of what was, and might be still.

editors note:

Together, past leaves will shade that one to leaf alone. – mh clay

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