some trees, reticent in their reddening leaves,
are still mostly green, swaying with a soft sound
in the nipping breeze. other trees,
too weak in the branches, let their leaves turn
to amber. these leaves, scattered
until they are inevitably sanctioned
into piles, make a shhhhhh under my shoes.
these leaves are a lullaby.
passing through the sepia path,
i repeat the rhythm of these leaves
among patterns of bark.
a horned lark, shrouded by many shades
of beige, makes a sound and echoes
through this autumn scene’s canals, ricocheting
off every trunk: the smell of maple
and dirt and what once was lush.
hush now, says the season, everything fades
in time. autumn to winter to spring to summer:
then back to autumn. impermanence is
the name nature was never given.
autumn, i am begging you,
exhaling from my heart,
tracing my eyes across all this amber,
to hurry up and turn to winter.