Falling into Life’s Hands Leaves Us at Peace: Two Fall Poems


Before I Fall
Leaves in the Fall,

if you don’t represent

the
Beauty of Change,
I don’t know who does.

And if you don’t speak

to the
wonderment of diversity,
then what can possibly be said
by any other who parts his lips?
If it’s not you
who embodies
the gloriousness of death,
the clear and certain purpose
of this Rite of Passage,
who then?
Blanket of Orange,
how gracefully you await
your impending fate.
How sure you seem
of
the order
in a Bigger Plan.
And then,
the slight in your fall,
the sway of your dance,
as you make your way
to the ground,
preparing for your transformation.
It is not your sacrifice.
It is your design.
And you flow with it
so peacefully,
so contentedly.
Surrender.
Acceptance.
Knowing.
Blanket of Orange,
oh, what we can learn
from you,
if we would just
pay attention.
Might we call you to mind,
recollect your undying Trust,
in our moments of questioning,
in our periods of doubt,
in our times of uncertainty?
Yes,
may we,
like you,
prepare ourselves
for Winter’s Blanket,
welcome the womb of darkness,
knowing full well
that our dust
will invite

the flowers to bloom again.

Blanket of Orange,
I witness your splendor,
your unrequited beauty,
as I round this mountaintop
and am reminded
of the only way to die:
gracefully,
meditatively,
softly,
sweetly,
offering myself to newness . . .
but not before I fall.

 Remnants
Tonight I smelled Autumn like never before.
The moon shone down upon me, and
the trees just kept doing what
they do.
What do they do, exactly?
Oh,
well, anyway . . .
I was remembering how,
years ago, on walks
just thirteen hours north of here,
my heart would rejoice
at the first whiff of
Fall.
Then I fell, and it was a
long while before
my heart rejoiced
again.
But here She is,
singing of burnt leaves,
spiced pumpkin, football . . .
and apple anything.
Brisk. Clean. Fresh.
So dead but
so, so
Alive.
Jeans. Sweaters.  
Fire it its
Fire Place.
Cider. Caramel. Mochas.
Me in the Right and Perfect
Place,
one where my Soul
knows Itself so fully
in all its seasons,
one where my Spirit
can come vitally Alive
because it’s not
fending off
imminent death.
Last Fall I hadn’t leapt yet.
I was teetering for sure,
exploring the view with
equal parts excitement
and trepidation,
but I had yet to depart from
the cliff’s safe edge.
The potency of Autumn’s
fragrance
tonight
reminds
me
that I’m flying.
So, as I take Her in,
I wave at the
cliff and
I smile.
I have come to my senses,
and my
senses
are
so
Alive in this
Coming, this Arrival,
this Place I
call Home.
Autumn lit Her candles for
me, and
Her aroma
fills my Home with
everything
She
represents,
reminds,
reminisces,
renews.
Tonight I smelled
Autumn like
never before,
and now I
rest,
mug in hand,
in Remnants
of
Beauty
evoked.

***Enjoy these poems and many more in my forthcoming “Book of Life: Poems for the Journey.” 

Facebook: Traveling Light Poetry, Photography and Dance

Website: travelinglightpoetry.com

 
 

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