Autumn’s Turn, Color & Finality

A Poem by Sam Grackle

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

A maple leaf, hanging down from a low branch
catches my eye as I walk the path of daily movement.
Its sharp fingers splayed, mostly green though
at the edges, a tinge of color, yellow unto orange.

Autumn’s turn, through days that close sooner
and sooner, reminds me of so many ends.

A transition, a slow unfolding
of the frigid cold and dark —
of a winter waiting on spring
to come ‘round this tiny planet.

Life goes on, I see through
to another moment of light
another cycle, another spin,
revolution, to start again.

Yet, something disappears.
Another year, another chance
is written in the stone of
the past, of personal history.

Books are written, articles penned
to embellish this passage of time.
Things happen, things happened,
and not a trace of it is new.