Early November,
and the day is warm.
I sit on the patio
writing these words.
Leaves from the plum tree overhead
scatter the patio floor,
leaves dark, dark green,
like quiet pond water.
The breeze lifts,
culling more leaves;
they fall around me,
tick, ticking down through the branches,
tick, ticking on the top of the umbrella,
tick, ticking on the pavement.
Sunlight slouches in these days,
filtered through the pines against the back fence,
sunlight relaxed and gentle.
Sunlight warms the dried and fallen leaves--
I love that smell,
distinct, recognizable,
yet I cannot describe it.
(Can you?)
I claim these days,
best, loveliest days.
I share them with all who wonder.
Text and image © 2020 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
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