Poem: The Leaves Change

The Leaves Change

The leaves change
as weather turns cold,
as autumn winds
bearing the smell of wood stoves
and decay,
swirl and dance their macabre minuet.

The leaves change,
a beautiful dying,
each day brighter, more vibrant
until autumn winds,
howling with winterous venom
rip the color away.

The leaves change,
a preparation, not for death,
but transformation
that laughs at death,
at winter,


certain
of spring.


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The picture was taken some time ago, right near the border of Rupert and Pawlet, Vermont. You can click on it for a larger version. That's my faithful Isuzu Trooper far in the background, the perfect vehicle for a photographer - all toughness and glass.

Tom