A Little Death
You ever wonder why leaves seem most
Beautiful in the fall? It isn’t just the color
But the fact they have a little death in them
Now, though soft and rippling in breezes
Still attached to rooted living trees
But starting to show hints of the end
In splashes of amber, orange and red.
Even when they fall, they waltz down
Unselfconsciously like grandparents
At weddings just taking their time
Soaking up every note of the song
Only when rusted brown and desiccated
To a crust do they start to lose our interest,
Become an unsightly speckled lawn rash,
Detritus to rake to the curb like trash
Scuttling like loose bones across the roads
When wintry Canadian winds gust through
I have a little death in me now too
But it isn't the gray infiltrating my temples
Or the lines etched around my eyes
Or the fact my flesh isn't quite as supple.
I’ve seen too much
I’ve budded and bloomed
Spent a life straining for the sun
In order to complete my assigned work.
I let the wind have its way with me
I’ve trembled in spring breezes
Clung with all my might during summer storms
But now I’m ready for the fall
I’ve even stopped raking the leaves
Littering my lonely swath of backyard.
They’ve become beautiful to me
Now. And I know the wind
Will ultimately blow them all away
No matter what I choose to do.
Some things have nothing to do
with what we do
Just let winter be the winter
Let the winds howl and blow
Let the rest be buried by snow