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Poem

Sitting on the porch of our cabin…protected by the eaves
surrounded by the forest I’m acutely aware of the susurration of the leaves.

How together as they sway a little on the branches of the trees
I can hear their rhythmic beauty…urged and prompted by the breeze.

Most of the sounds are onomatopoeic…as the wind invisibly passes through
I hear the leaves not only swish and rustle…but whisper to one another too.

If I listen closely I can hear exactly what they have to say
how they thank the tree…the sun…and greet other leaves to start their day.

And with Fall approaching…bathed in morning light
I hear the leaves comment on how their colors have changed a little over night.

I remain silent…keeping all my thoughts within…
for I do not want the leaves to know that I am listening in.

I hear the younger leaves…whose colors have already turned…
and who are feeling a bit appalled…
ask the older leaves…still green…”What is it like to fall?”

And I hear the older leaves whisper…as they look the young ones in their eyes…
“You will not be falling.” They tell them.  “For a few moments….you will fly.”

“And after gliding for a moment…you will land softly on the ground
so softly that, when you land, you will not make a sound.”

I’ve been lucky to watch and listen with my ears and with my eyes
to be there…to be a witness…when a young leaf learns to fly.

And if I listen closely…as it breaks from the safety of the tree
one of the most beautiful sounds of Autumn
is a young leaf crying….Wheeeee!

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