November 13, 2005

Painful Foliage


I gaze in wonder at the turning of green to gold,
The shedding of a summer's cloak.

"Does it hurt?
Does the display we chart on 'Peak Maps' mask a painful process?"

I've not yet met a morphosis that came without a price.
My soul account is still in the red,
indebted by past moves from here to there.

But I'd pay again.

When my pride and delusions are being plucked leaf-by-leaf
Leaving me exposed, nude
And shivering in the whipping winter winds
I can't hide a secret delight at the sight of leaves lying at my feet.
Lies and cheap adornments in a colorful pile at my roots,
And I reach for the heavens with open arms.

So, each Autumn, I hear them now with wiser eyes.
Foliage is not yellows and reds,
But screams and sobs,
Glorious and melodius moans of change gone horribly right.

3 comments:

jhyshark said...

Great poem. I told my xanga friends to hike over here and read it.

Edison in a moth-eaten ghillie suit said...

This is a northerner thing isn't it? When I flew over Virginia a few years ago around fall time, I initially thought there had been a forest fire.

Gayle and Rob said...

Dan, It's wonderous - too fine to remain hidden on a blog - find a way to share it. And I agree with your friend about it being a northern thing, native Floridians never understand it completely.