falling

leaf

I stood with my bare feet

in the autumn garden

waiting to catch the leaf that

floated in the air for a moment

before falling

on damp earth.

It was as though the tree held

its breath

before letting it go

-and it becoming part of the canvas atlast

in its sea of spotted golds, walnut browns,

and purple-plums.

I had picked up so many leaves

before this,

putting them in pretty painted vases,

or between pages of books.

or in uneven piles under the living room window

waiting to be preserved and

framed

in vintage white wood.

It all seemed to be part of a plan

to hold on to fall a little longer

-to dismiss the thought of a sleepy landscape

and impending winter.

But soon

the leaves would get swept to the roadside

and the ones i had kept would crumble

before they could be hung behind glass

on faded yellow walls.

I thought i could paint a leaf somewhere.

On a bedroom window.

Green,

still

like the Spring leaf

Or yellow like autumn

in  O. Henry’s

The Last leaf.

Or perhaps

the windows would remain

blank for another year.

And the leaves would become a squirrel’s nest,

or a place for hiding peanuts.

until the snow came.

-By J. Hamilton

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One thought on “falling

  1. Pingback: falling | Le cose piu belle (the most beautiful things)

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