what seasons know about telling stories of shared motion

leaves race cars around corners, like "pow" and "zam" bars trace comic book characters to share their majesty. divinity. celebrity.

life has action marks in fall.

leaves chase our human feet, bicycle tires, curbs, and each other.

tree detritus adds sound and motion to so many things we could have appreciated differently, all summer.

leaves become smaller as they spin, breaking into dust bits and bench slats. fragments fill in holes that will fill in further. spiders shelter for seasons in the stuck foliage.

there is very little outside of this photograph, because leaves fill outside and inside everything.

form the size that feels good on bare feet to the one that lets rivers show their speed, broken bits make room for translation. energy painted by absentee brushes, like lighting everything that ever made me look up.           

like new parts turning yellow, and then green throughout,

it is felt when parts shift to yellow, then orange/red/tawney, then variations of brown.

plants version of dark. absence of life. of growing.

time for a long cool rest.

autumn is the season to allow our shoulders to show. our armature.

to be identified nakedly.

to allow those with the skills carry the weight of oxygen.

to hold the soil still against a shifting skin.

to feed the fowl, and clothe every last insect for the rain.

like a look under water, we see the heron's rook for the fortress it is.

holes are dug, and rots are fed through ancient mushrooms' mastery.

all of this motion of perennial impermanence reminds the city kid of a country drive.

recalls the books of a childhood in basement boxes, beside records that will dust off for coffee.

patterns allow for ache and joy as inhale and exhale.

what we forget is important, as the door is slowly closing.