Leaves mirror the years.
I want to hear a leaf hit the dark lake water.
I get under a maple, and wait.
Leaves spiral around and behind.
Then, one falls, a golden brown, and lands next to me –
A sound so faint, so very faint.
The leaf sits.
And for the first time in a vanishing life I have heard a leaf hit water, so faint, so very faint.
She wants leaves: reds, yellows, browns, tans.
She rustles over a leaf bed, bends and takes many – soggy and brittle they are.
She sees a red leaf on a maple branch.
She pulls it off.
“No! No!” to myself.
She takes more red leaves.
I know she should wait until they fall –
Ill fortune, impatience, others wish to see them.
We move on, deeper into our private autumn engagement ….
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, early October 2012