How often
do we fail to see
What’s right before our eyes?
Like the dancing leaves
Of an Aspen–quaking
Against a crisp, autumn breeze
Shimmering
In the direct gaze
Of a bold sun
Dangling
Like golden coins
Waiting to be plucked
Trembling with possibility,
Spinning–heads, then tails–
My destiny hangs in the balance…
Do I dare to climb
Out on a limb
And claim the treasure
Of a fate
Fashioned from
My own, deepest desires?
Tell me, would you dare
To let it fall
Unseized?
What steered the whimsy
of autumn winds?
What spurred tree limbs
To shed their splendor?
What lies in store for leaves
That can flee the nest no more?
Yes–these scarlet leaves,
Which bow and twirl
In a final, delicate waltz,
Which tremble and falter
In fruitless preparation
For a fall that won’t ever come.
I don’t know what is it to birth a child,
But I know how to press my ear to the earth,
To curl my fingers in supplication,
To stare at a blank page until they are clear–
The mysterious whispers of a hundred lives,
And I–the midwife who’ll deliver them into the world.
Does the tree trunk rot and crumble
After its leaves wither to dust?
When Spring comes once more,
Will you lift your face to the sky
And still taste the rain?
(with inspiration from “The Summer Day” by Mary Oliver)
Renée Can(ada) Writes 