Come early October, the pace is quickened,
Leaves turn gold and yellow and redden on branches
As though in fiery competition for attention.
Occasional gaps open among treetops in the distance.
We cannot blame the trees for this—
They too are called to change
From summer’s sprawling lushness to
Contend with winter’s white revision.
Nothing is exempt from dying.
Every year the train comes right on schedule.
Standing on platform of my life,
I watch as leaves begin to fall.
The falling does not take long.
Gust of wind or driving rain and they rest
Upon the ground— forever fallen underfoot.
Yet there is abiding glory in all of this.
Raking leaves from walkway and lawn
All the way to twilight— and still they fall until trees are bald.
When I was young, this was great fun.
Now even in autumn’s beauty, I see within a little death.
Each fall there comes a startling moment—
Suddenly I am slowly walking Home…
A letting go turning me to dust,
Weightless as I drift away toward dark.