A poetic reflection:
We see them fall,
We hear them rustle,
We may even feel them
brush by our face.
Today, as I ate my lunch under the sycamore
One landed on my plate.
Was the tree teasing, or asking me to eat it?
More likely I should leave it be–
“Leaf it alone,” (to drop a pun)
To compose a composting concert
Orchestrating endless living music
Among renewable roots
Sucking beauty from the crunching copper carpet
Ascending again, transformed
From the scattered symphonic spread
Drifting down to play once again
Across the rain-soaked autumn earth.