The day of the dead
Dawned brilliant sunshine
The blue sky set free
Above the autumnal hues
The drenched earth downpour
Lying now in puddles
As we walk the lake shore
Inhaling the crisp November air.
Out of the corner of my eye
I catch the glimpse of a tree
It stopped suddenly it seems
Like a dancer with curved arms
Lean and graceful
The dawn had caught it in mid-flight
And it froze in haste to await the nightfall
For it's next move.
It is the leaves fallen
Exposing branches as we
Will one day be stripped
All pretenses gone
In the blink of an eye or
A half turned glance
We catch a glimpse
To the world beyond.
In solemn silence we tread
The leaves festival track
Surrounded by green forest bending
Humble unto the season
Brown bracken the dying time.
I am a part of the world
I was born into and yet
I often wonder if in the future
My real work begins like
Those in the past that sowed
Often with tears
Never opening their eyes upon
Completion of their task
Believing their contribution
A thread bound tightly in
This frail fabric of existence.
The wind comes rushing now
Through our little yard
The yellow maple leaves
Caught up with haste
Tossed in circular motions
Higher into the open sky
Their movement a melody
Sung by the boisterous wind
How cheerful they seem
Set free to roll around the hills
Like children let out to play
On this the month of the dead.
