I
This autumn wind is gold tinted
from the dust, remains
of a dry summer floating
in the air, pulled
into my nostrils, and settling
(for) on windows that have not been
opened in months.
Or maybe the wind is
doing his own interpretation
of the yellow wilting leaves
of trees happily surrendering
to sleep, well-earned, long awaited;
for these aspens have not slept in months.
But it cannot be –
the wind does not sleep and
he does not happily surrender.
II
The leaves are tossed
in a migrating gust
letting go to dance in a breeze
that could take them anywhere.
Let go, for even the ground is better
than someone else’s limbs.
How can these fair-haired leaves
dance freely if someone else
is spinning them?
Say goodbye to your tree.
The restless wind is calling you.
Creative Commons love to http://www.flickr.com/photos/vbenedetti/ on flickr for the photo! Grazie!