When the autumn months are calling,
Leaves from up on high are falling.
Landing softly on the ground
Without a shudder or a sound.
But if I were a bug or bee
And if a leaf should land on me
Would I be hurt, or in a pickle?
Or would that leaf provide a tickle?
Through March and April and into May
Leaves are falling by the day.
Mother Nature’s voice has called,
The trees seem to be going bald.
In my backyard beneath the sky
Leaves of many colours lie.
Maple leaves and sycamores;
Gum leaves too: there’s leaves galore.
While the soil is far from hardened
I rake some leaves onto my garden,
Making many a compost heap,
Where all the worms and snails sleep.
So if you’re rolling up your sleeves
Please admire the falling leaves.
Pick one up from off the clover:
Go on and turn a new leaf over.
Colours infiltrate me,
Infuse into my mind,
Riding on an autumn leaf,
Leaving earth behind.
I see a tapestry of leaves,
Scattered far below,
Red and ochre intertwined,
Putting on a show.
Uplifted by the current,
I drift into the sky,
On a wave of breeze,
Floating way up high.
Suddenly I’m falling,
Then up again I go,
No sooner have I risen up,
I’m in a downward throw.
Finally, I land,
Amidst the other leaves,
And I find myself again,
Part of the tapestry.
With every step among the leaves,
crackling, golden, orange, brown
you hear the music of the bees,
you feel the rhythm of your feet;
the slip and slide on crackling grass,
and the colours of the burning trees.
Keep on walking – it’s a treat
to drink the air and sing your feet
in crackling grass as you pass.