When my Cotinus
goes golden in the garden
I know if I walk the hill
the horizon will be
beginning to blush.
We have many stalwart pines
around here that wouldn’t dream
of parting with their leaves
or trading their macho verdancy
for a feminine flounce of red
or pink – or even amber.
But the sycamores and maples
and others of their ilk
see late October as a time
of Carnaval – of brazen show
a hectic palette that ends
mostly like crinkly tobacco
swirling in gutters
amassing on the tops of drains.
Everyone complains, of course
except the youngest among us
who wouldn’t miss whooshing
the piles and hunting out
the largest and most perfect
to twirl between their tiny
gloved thumb and index
all the way home
.
.
Advertisements
