The leaves are glass sculptures
Every cell and fiber
Covered with crystalline droplets
Revealing the crimson colors
In new and beautiful transparency.
It is early to have such cold
Descend upon the land
Like a Christmas carol
Causing us to check the calendar
Wondering what season it really is.
Not unlike the middle of life
Where aches and pains seem
Just a little too early
Joints complaining in the cold.
Funny, how seasons
Come and go
In such rapid succession
One wonders
Where does the time go?
When I lie on my death bed
Will I too, be encased in ice
Or will I float free
Unencumbered with guilt or regret?
I like to think I will be
As the latter…
Drifting to the ground
With not a care in the world
Releasing the body
As easily as a leaf falls from a tree
My heart as light as a feather.
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