I heard on the radio - I think it was last year- that leaves don't just waft gently from the trees in the autumn, as poets and artists might have us all believe. Rather, they are pushed from the leaves, in a seasonal attempt of the tree to save its branches from breaking under heavy snow. That's why the leaves that are on the ground are all different colors, in various stages of life or death; they "are released" at various times. Ah, nature! A wellspring of fascination, you are!
In celebration, I have a new writer's challenge for you all, and this is it: Write a poem, song or piece of prose that includes these lines:
The autumn leaves
don't fall from the trees
They jump
Oooh! Intriguing, non?
I am very interested to see what you come up with, so come on! Come up with something! Post or email me and I'll put it on the blog at a later date. Happy Writing!
Winter nights get really pushy
ReplyDeleteThey show up early to parties
And stay way too long
They take over, wrapping arms around windows
Chilling partygoers to the bone
Suddenly, we outstay welcome
Not wanting to deal with winter head on, alone
No coffee, more wine please
Where did everybody go?
Taxi? No! I’m just around the corner
Last call, bundled
When will it be warm again?
Will it be warm again?
A frozen walk home interrupted by visions
Spring beckons; another reality
But the thaw seems impossible,
Saved for a new life altogether
Spring belongs to fresh souls
A new pair of wide, baby eyes
With a neck too soft to support the head
A scene on the other side of glass
Blooms and crawls with life
Peering in, we, with strong, but aching necks
Squint at the bright color,
Where are my glasses?
A bio-sphere bubble
A bright sunny place, out of the reach
Of blue, longing fingertips
Our quiet tapping on spring’s shell gets louder
The snow drifts burying us up to our noses
Fists tight with fear and cold, pound then stop
Helplessly marveling at the buds, shoots and tendrils
The bursting green leaves wink at us through the glass
They are on to the joke
While we have missed the set-up, the twist
Never mind the punch line
The trees know things
Leaves understand the score and do what needs doing
they see that grren is temporary
red and brown looms
The autumn leaves
Don’t fall from the trees
They jump
Denying winter the terrible game of keep away
They leave well before the host starts brewing coffee and hints
And we grudgingly learn to step around patches of ice
Damn, Mary! Sweet!!!!
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