There's this couple of trees I pass on my way to Lucy's Mom's Day Out program. They grab my attention every time. I stopped at the side of the road and took a photo of them today. Watching their leaves all aglow in gold, the way the ground surrounding their trunks is now gold as well, reminds me of this poem by my favorite poet, Linda Pastan. I thought I'd share it with you...
The Way the Leaves Keep Falling
It is November
and morning--time to get to work.
I feel the little whip
of my conscience flick
as I stand at the window watching
the great harvest of leaves.
Across the street my neighbor,
his leaf blower already roaring,
tries to make order
from the chaos of fading color.
He seems brave and a bit foolish.
It is almost tidal, the way
the leaves keep falling
wave after wave to earth.
In Eden there were
no seasons, and sometimes
I think it was the tidiness
of that garden
Eve hated, all the wooden tags
with the new names of plants and trees.
Still, I am Adam's child too
and I like order, though
the margins of my poems
are ragged, and I stand here
all morning watching the leaves.
