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Tenacity of Lace

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BARELY OCTOBER - Musings #80

            BARELY OCTOBER


The leaves of the three trees out front

not yet transformed by nip and chill –

frozen in last night’s early snow.


Falling – every one,

in multitudes all at once.


Not like years past . . .


a glow surrounding the house –

tall tree gods, haloed by Midas touch, 

watching over us,


the last to surrender

their mounds of bounty for ritual sake –

to rake and jump into, breathing


the first sweet scent of decay –

as if death were nothing to fear.


Now, only brown, shriveled leaves


a hired hand will dispose of  without ceremony –

sucked up and dumped.


No matter I have relished other autumns,

no matter the child reminds me

fall will come again. Not as if


a loved one has been washed out to sea,

my home and thousands more

wrecked by pelting rain and furious wind.


That is tragedy –


so overwhelming I cannot comprehend.

And yet for my lost autumn, I ache.


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