Leaves

Ther is a beauty in dying

Leaves

 

From sylvan green

a profusion of

reds...russets...golds...

emerge like a woman's blush...

a flush...

a hint of ensuing beauty...

a harbinger of winter white

and crackling cold...

 

How glorious is

the exit of Autumn...

one final explosion

of brilliant color

before shedding leaves

en masse

less a defiant few

hangers-on that cling to life

already gone...

leaving limbs barren and bare

possessing a stark beauty

of their own...

 

As if on cue

like lemmings to the sea

they whirl and twirl

and float the breeze

like a Midway ride at a fall fair

'til they finally fall

creating a carpet

on the earth...

 

Roiled back and forth

by the whipping wind

a turbid tide

of red, russet, brown leaves

imbuing the air with an earthy sweetness...

in dying,

give birth to children's laughter as they play

in raked-up piles...

and grown- ups groaning in their gathering...

 

It is the lot of leaves to be interred

by winter snows

damp and deep...

From their dying decay

springs new life...

new blossoms...

new budding branches...

come Spring...

their cycle of life complete...

 

Would that our lives would possess

such beauty...

such purpose...

such perfection...