Am I Even a Poet if I Don’t Write About Fall?
How summer took one last gasp, and autumn exhaled blushing the silver maple, shivering the ginkgo tree to drop all its leaves in a carpet of gold, and twirling one single leaf high in the air in her ballerina debut. How I watched the wind swirling a pile of leaves in a tornado in the parking lot to draw a new map of continents. Now I witness fall coaxing more leaves off the trees to paint new pictures in this ever-changing gallery. Today, I think saw a manta ray until the scrape of my rake whisked it away leaving a blank canvas for another day.
A note:
I’ve been collecting these lines since the first day of fall, and they have finally worked themselves out here. The credit for the first line goes to my friend Rachael, who said I could have it.
On the subject of poetry, I shared one on grace and Pikachu pajamas here. I also wrote a ridiculous one about a broken glass measuring cup here, because why not?
Finally, I was honored for Coffee+Crumbs posting my whimsical poem about the moon here.
I loved this poem, Jill, but what I loved best was that you see (notice) things in piles of leaves – I thought I was the only one. ❤️