PAD Challenge 6

The Blower of Leaves


They swirl like kids at recess,
tumbling in and out of formation,
twirling about in their autumnal alliances.

The trees have given
shade and cover,
all that I have asked for,

only to be thrown out
in lawn bags with the morning trash.
Such is the way with givers—

they offer their splendor
until a new season comes
in the commerce of change.

Fall baptizes the cool air
While the leaves rain down
on the uncut grass.

I am not the one
who created the tall maples
standing watch over our house,

but today I am their god,
I am the blower of leaves
creating a microburst of gyration—

a million brilliant ambers twisting
in the thinning October sun.
No matter how much I clear,

my lawn is their landing strip.
Nothing is ever easy or true.
I do not seek perfection

but revel in the process.
Always there is sky
waiting to fall.

The rustle of leaves
is the sound of gravity
pulling my dreams

back to earth.