Leaves on slate. Bright colors on grey.
The last colors of the season torn from trees
and scattered like confetti for one last party.
For the past month, I have looked up
to the mountains, eyes like a child
watching the seasons change.
But the mountains are barren now,
and I look down like an old man
capturing the last love of the day,
a far more savoring soul
than I once was, focusing now on each individual leaf
like it matters.
About this poem
As I age, I pay far more attention to everything. I know,from having almost died a time or few, that nothing, particularly love, should be taken for granted. Not the woman I love. Not my children. Not the many people I am blessed to have in my life, real and virtual.
You know who you are.
PS: The picture was taken down the street in West Pawlet, VT.