Leaves

All the leaves are. . . down

Here in North Texas, fall has arrived just in time for winter. As is often the case, we’re having a leaf-covered, as opposed to a white, Christmas. Because the holidays are upon us and I have exams to grade, I’ve been procrastinating in making my next Substack post. I’ve got a longer poem that I’m still tinkering with that I hope to post here soon. But for Christmas Eve, something brief seems better. Who has time to read long posts when there are presents to wrap, parties to plan, etc.

Much cheer to all in this joyous season, no matter what holiday you celebrate. If anyone who lives close wants to drop by and give me a hand raking leaves, you’re most welcome.

Leaves

Like leaves in autumn, in certain seasons it seems as if the only place we have to go is down. We’re on a falling trajectory, on a slanting vector, sailing earthward on the wind.

There will be no gusts to sweep the leaves up again to restore them to their branches. The trees will be stripped clean, and therein lies our trial and our promise.

Those billion whispered
crashes that you never heard. . . .
Leaves blanket the lawn.