The winds and bright dying of the leaves of fall have brushed away the turning season into the callous cold of winter leaving behind a brown texture of oak and pecan scattered on the still green lawn where they rest humbly, their identity as living species shriveling into the fog of memory.
I wonder what I can learn from those leaves and the trees who gently let go of all the little lives and lay them on the ground first to decay and then transform from drying aching olding into a mysterious unfolding.
Thanks to Brian Francis who publishes his work on http://www.pathetic.org and his poem, "Bluster" which inspired my poem.