Rung & Bill!

Words Like Leaves

My words fall like Autumn leaves from a crisp, cloudless sky.
They dip and swirl, tumble and soar,
Colors flashing: reds, greens, golds - dancing their way to the empty page.

Nature silently calls them to this dance.
Perhaps it is a change in the warmth of Her breath,
Perhaps it is the anticipation of Her touch,
Or a variation of light as She winks one season into another.

They dart about, laughing and teasing,
Elbowing their way along side those that, exhausted, have grudgingly surrendered.
Even then they are not still.

They shuffle among themselves,
Change position, move apart, come together,
Never at peace, never at rest,
For there are no rules for their rest.

They cannot be raked into neat rows or gathered into dank mounds,
They cannot be ground into lifeless dust or burned into dead ash.
They flow freely and wander where they will.

They smother the potted plant,
The manicured lawn, the sculptured hedge.
They call out the wildflower, the ragged weed, the clump of bush.

Leafless now, the tree stands revealed,
Its stark shape a silent silhouette against the crisp, cloudless sky.
The leaves, gladly given to Her, are of no use to it now.

It rests and waits for Her to return,
With warmth, with moist breath and flashing eyes,
To coax green buds out to a new, more luxuriant season.