I beam when leaves stick
To the bottom of my heavy leather boots,
As I tromp from one place to the next,
Irritated yet pleased when they're STILL THERE,
After every sticky, wet step.

I think leaves are meant to bustle and blow
In Autumn as they do in Spring,
And that leaves have a yearning,
(After rooted so long)
To see the world.

The wind whispers to the leaves,
“I have been here to caress you all along,
And I am here to carry you now,
And bear you to beautiful new places.”
And the leaves sigh and surrender,
And flutter to the ground,
Then back to air,
Then to ground,
Laughing merrily,
Tumbling,
Enjoying the last few moments alive.

When leaves stick
To the bottom of my heavy leather boots
As I tromp from one place to the next,
I have the satisfaction of knowing
That these leaves would not have seen
The places I have taken them.
They would not have left
Pieces of themselves in the concrete.
That somehow I have helped fulfill a dream
By moving their dying fragments,
Like scattering ashes,
And showing them a new world
If only a hundred feet away.