It started with a shiver,
a gentle chill woven through the air,
and the leaves received their dismissal notice,
no longer a necessity.
Slow to surrender,
the foliage ripened in a fire of autumnal colors
before being severed at their petioles,
their ties to their summer residence.
Detached, discharged from their service,
the leaves went beautifully to their death,
fell to the earth in a dance,
life completed.
Their corpses are scattered and littered
at the feet of the trees which forsook them.
Abandoned branches click and clack
in a lonesome melody,
unable to call back Summer with the tune.
In the blustery weather,
the tree roots feed on the debris rotting under the snow.
Sustained by the molder of renounced leaves,
willingly lost many weeks before,
the trees sleep and dream
of blue skies and warmth,
of renewal.
The skeletal fingers click and clack their knuckles,
buds ready for the next stage, spring.
Aching lines against the muted sky
await the proper angle of the sunlight
to chase away the cold, the snow,
the season of slumber.
Winter, which has stolen the pulse from their slice of earth,
holds the trees hostage in a naked state.
The trees, frozen in time, must wait
to live and breathe again,
to awaken in vibrant greens,
for another chance to be admired,
to give birth to spring leaves.
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