“Death falls with pretty colors.
Does that bother you at all?”
His voice was low. I begged his pardon
“Does it ever bother you?”
“Does what” I asked, he kept walking on.
“Does it bother you – the fall?”
We walked in silence, leaves crunched below
till we paused to choose which way to go.
Then his voice broke upon the chilled air
“The leaves are pretty colors.”
Unsure, I turned to the leaves and stared.
Most were burnt and charred from green to gold
A few of them glowed like coals grown old.
“They are at that,” I finally said.
“So beauty holds hands with death.”
Worried, I looked, but he was not sad.
He knelt and held a leaf in his hand.
“The ones on the ground are dead.”
Across the leaf burned a glowing band
that threatened to catch his hand ablaze.
“The rest die with one last breath.”
The leaf fell, I walked on in a daze.
“That’s why the fall bothers me.”
I followed but the words wouldn’t come.
“Not the death, but the beauty
that’s woven into the death.”
My feet were cold and my ears were numb.
“I feel like it’s my duty
to make some sense of it all.
I want to hide in cheap resolution,
but that would just cheapen the beauty,
and death would still live in the leaves.”