canopy

when cheryl died
in the technicolor autumn
i stood beside a grove of trees
and called "did you hear
she's gone"
but my voice didn't carry

my ear had been drawn
my footfalls stilled
by the pat pat patting
of leaves lofting down
one after another
for each, its moment of final loosening
and release
the biggest surprise
since spring sprout
even as a pattern repeated every second
pat pat patting
steady as rain
as viewed across a grove
on a clear, technicolor autumn day

do leaves wonder
what will become of them
or is the answer too obvious?

they are pressed with care
by fellow travelers
eager to remember how affected they were
by a particular brilliance

or returned to the soil
silently enriching all that follows