Fall. A poem.


The other night, the wind and rain
slapped a lot of beauty out of their canopies.
The rain fell on the leaves,
the leaves fell like rain.
The colors lay dead.

I tried to rally my kids to pick them up.
I gave them Elmer’s glue and a stapler.
I had a few ladders too.

The sun’s out and how much
I wanted to see the colors against a cool blue sky
rather than on faded green grass and asphalt and gravel.
I prayed for a resurrection
and imagined the maples bending over,
gathering leaves like fallen feathers.

But then, my kids dropped the glue
and staples and the disbelief
their faces had shown me.

They ran for rakes.

With their faces flush with autumn air,
they piled up the leaves on the runway.
They carelessly overlaid color on color,
like a scribbler with crayons.
Their excitement rose, as did the pile.

I saw the clear blue sky in their eyes
as they lay laughing in the spectrum.
I smiled as their redemptive act
fell on me like cool rain in the night.


  1. Yep. I still like it!

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