When I wrote this poem I didn’t think it would become so personal in a few short years. It was our first fall together in seven years; spending time kayaking and fishing, while leaves transformed, ablaze with colors. I remember hiking in winter and noticing trees that held onto their brown, dead leaves as if hanging on would bring them back to life. I don’t remember the name of the tree, my husband would; he was a forester after all, but if I listen I can hear the leaves rattle as the wind tries to make them fall. When their time is up, they will fall so the new leaves can bud out and grow. Leaves are critical to a trees survival and yet each year they let them go and then wait through the long, cold winter, until they awaken to longer sunny days, spring rain, summer warmth, and summer rain; the amazing cycle of leaves and of life.
- Fall Leaves / Dying
- So many colors, shapes, and sizes. From plain brown to vibrant reds.
- They all fall. Some early, some late.
- Some seem to hang on forever. Through the bitter cold of winter.
- They will fall, some day.