The late October nor’easter
Is pelting this windswept day
With cold rain
Stripping the threadbare
leaves
Russet and amber
From the yielding trees
Pasting them to the
windshield of my car
Parked in the driveway.
Ignoring my desires
And shallow discontent
They speak to me of
letting go
And transformation
These transcendental couriers.
My feet are not soaked
Nor my brow dripping
And so gifted with this reluctant
retreat
I am allowing myself this
point of view
And other lessons perhaps
Given through such acts
Of random generosity.
And you?
The sycamores come earthward soon
They say goodbye and tawny down
They are not shy nor do they tease.
Their story is of letting go
Of what was once flushed bright in green
They give up and accept their change.
The maples hang by threads up high
As if to say “just one more day.”
And so I am amused by them
Turning red, then brown, then down
These sunsets beckon us goodbye
Once blushed against the cobalt sky
Their story is of holding on
Fearful of the days to come.
The beech persists throughout the year
They carve their names upon the heart
Both green and brown are seen above
They charm us with their dignity
Leaves rattle against the wind and cold
Their story is so often told
New life is born out of the old
By holding tight then letting go.
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