The wind is blowing no more
The fallen leaves are resting
After landing now
They’re making a crunchy sound as I walk on them
The naked tree is coming to terms
With its bare-all look.
No longer trying to hide from the nearby bench
exchanging glances with the flowing creek
The trail is blazing bright with
Red, orange leaves
I am getting ready to walk on fire on a freezing day
The trail is the only color left
In this grey landscape
The rising Sun, shivering
Takes a flicker or two
From the trail
To burn for the day ahead.
The leaves have decided to live
Unapologetically, or it seems to me so.
Happy to be settled on a trail,
Adorn it with a red, orange hue
Leaving trees longing for them
To come back To them soon.
A little bird
looks puzzled, wonders
fallen leaves and the tree
what is ‘belonging ‘ to
something, someone, somewhere
(Dedicated to The Timber Creek)
Poetry, my poems © Copyright 2018, Nehal