Autumn
Today is essence of November:
Cold and windy, with spats of rain.
I think few people love these days
The way I do.
The wind combs the leaves
From the solemn trees.
They twirl and cluster
And foam through the air,
Then bank and subside against
Walls and house corners.
Such mounds of leaf debris
To be swept away!
That’s all right.
It’s work I love.
It’s harmony
It’s devotion
It’s meaning.
I work the fallen leaves.
I talk to them
But not as much
As they talk to me.
— Andrew Hubbard, Brown County
