Scattered by unforgiving winds
leaves waver then flee the tree
overcome by icy blasts
they fall one-by-one
in an election in which they
were chosen to run.
Leaves litter the yards of dormant grass
left unwatered, to rest after last cuts.
Then, media blasts toss leaves in our face
as they race across the landscape.
We gather those lost leaves
like lost souls, in yard waste bags
to be placed by the curb for pick-up.
What happens to them there
is not ours to see.
Our yards suddenly seem free of their weight
upon the grass we hope to grow
when cold subsides and warmth returns
along with fertile minds who know
how to make our American garden grow.
Alas, too many leaves remain
caught among the roots and branches
of shrubs and dried-out garden stalks
which mark a yard’s boundary,
which catch them before they can flee
and hide them from our sight
where they shelter creepy-crawly things.
They also hide the weeds waiting below
ready to sprout and grow
where no gardener wishes them to be.
Rake out those sheltering leaves,
or let them rot and lie until they die?
Like fallen leaves we have no answers.
It is too cold to be outside
so we stay inside ourselves and hide.
We simply blow the way the wind blows.
annarino writes 