At Work’s End

Below the high peaks

which have no trees

another show begins

of short-lived folk

who know their common place  

Leaves don’t rely on rumor to know their place

they give all summer to their growing tree

working folk who know earth’s tilt

and when rotation leans it north

respond

“one little show

and then we’ll go

our work is done”    

She invites me to lay an eye

with her small leaf

and take an insect-view

its network of veins

it’s plan

green chlorophyll disintegrating

revealing other colors

art and wisdom in its ending  

All beside the trail

a curtain rises

October rains will come and go

but will not stop this lovely show 

Along the road old leaves turn from working green, their useful lives are ending.  They loosen from the branch and flutter breathless to the ground, falling without regret because baby leaves sprout in spring.  

     

"O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.  (continued)

Before the leaves can mount again

to fill the trees with another shade,

they must go down past things coming up.

They must go down into the dark decayed."

                                  Robert Frost     

See the trail that me led me to this show on a map prepared by Michael Angerman, showing all of my nightly sleeping places. Please click here:  Michael's Map