Autumn's Craft

Lovely autumn.

Your craft and wile seduce me into celebrating the falling of the leaves:

the oranges and the yellows;

the reds and the purples

     heartbreakingly deep;

anticipating the cold-tinted mornings

and brisk afternoons,

dark evenings playing rummy around the kitchen table over

     steaming mugs of tea.

Lovely autumn.

You call me to the woods again and again,

my feet shuffling through leaves thickly carpeting the path

so that I can no longer see my way.

I am guided by a hole high in a tree where, perhaps,

an owl restlessly dreams while I walk, shifting in its sleep,

always on guard.

     On guard always.

I am guided, too, by the tree lying prone upon the ground.

Piece by piece, it is melting away to become one with the earth

to indeed change into earth, reminding me of who and what

     I will one day become

broken down atoms collaborating to form something new.

Lovely autumn.

The fishermen sit around the lake watching the wind tear

ripples across the water's surface

while the willow tree bends to admire her shimmery reflection,

for she is yet adorned in leaves.

The fishermen tell me they've had no luck today but still they sit,

watching and waiting.

And it is lovely.

     All of it is lovely.

* * *

But finally there are no more leaves to rip from the trees,

no more leaves to block the inevitable iciness of the wind.

All the leaves have lost their color;

dry and brown skeletons

     curling in upon themselves

tissue melting away

until only the veins of the leaves remain.

And the holidays pass and the busyness settles.

and my life is full of quiet and stillness.

My breath fogs the windows.

Lake Erie brings forth snow.

The world turns frigid and white and stark.

And suddenly the thought of becoming one with the earth,

-broken down atoms collaborating to make something new-

seems bitterly cold and

     frighteningly alone.

This was written for this week's Trifecta Writing Challenge. The word was craft.

Kelly Garriott Waite on Google+