Never Quite. Almost.

You are out of season.
The world is summer. You are fall.
Either a bit ahead, or way behind
the calendar. Never quite where you should be.
Aging.
Not well or poorly, just out of sync,
never quite what you are supposed to be.
out of sync with expectations,
the last red leaf, still bound to the limb
long past winter, into spring.
jarring when you see it, but
well camouflaged in a sea of green.
rarely seen, as long as you stay quiet.

The older you get, the less it matters,
this out of sync coloration.
It matters less than you believed
when you were young. You are better able
to dream when the world does not suit your needs,
better able to remember the times when it did,
knowing seasons will change
and your time will come again.

About this poem

About aging. About seasons. About not fitting in and fitting in at the same time. About cycles in life. Poetry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken last fall just over the border near my home.

Tom