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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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