SATURDAY THOUGHTS: POETRY PROMPT---LESSONS FROM THE LEAVES

I watched the neighbors as they raked and bagged leaves. 

They even had a leaf blower. 

They worked for hours. 

I was actually feeling lazy as I noticed them each time I passed the kitchen window. 

They each had a rake, and their teamwork was so admirable. 

"Maybe I should go outside and rake, too" I told myself.

 
I went outside, grabbed the broom, swept leaves out of the garage, and then swept the walkway and porch. 

I was headed back to the garage to get the rake, when the wind blew...and blew...and blew. 

In a matter of seconds, all of the neighbor's work I'd admired--5 big Lowe's paper bags worth-- looked as if they'd done nothing at all. Their yard looked like my yard--inundated with fallen leaves. 

It looked as if someone maliciously untied the bags they'd spent hours filling, and dumped the contents back onto their lawn. 

Every time the wind blows the leaves rush, swirl, tumble, and scatter. It's like a stampede.

I can only imagine their frustration, unless they were just raking for exercise. 

In that case, they put in a really good work out.

I remembered how we used to collect leaves to study and draw in Science class in elementary school. 

I remembered how we used to press them between wax paper. 

There were crayons and an iron involved, but I can't remember what for. 
I think I'll just admire the beauty; wait for the wind to finish doing it's thing. Maybe someone will roll by with a giant leaf sucking vacuum cleaner. 
This is a job for professionals...and patience.

LESSONS FROM THE LEAVES

The wonder of them
The colors-- lush and bright
Not one like another
They're changing; drying
In truth, they're dying
In graceful flight they let go
Making room for others to grow

Ripped away from their source by the wind
Traveling far and wide
They exchange great heights for the ground
And let us see them up close
How intricate and beautiful they are

We see the tumbling
Swirling
Hear the rustling
Lament how they're moved by every gust
They seem to run from yard to yard
Play without care in the middle of the streets
And when they become too much to bear
When they clog and block
When rain comes and makes them heavy
We turn on them
Pick up our tools and gather them
But another gust comes
They laugh at us
And blanket everything again
There are more of them than we imagine

They give us reason to pause
To ask why, and how
Every year, without fail, they fall
We are fortunate
Not everyone experiences the change
That reminds us how quickly time passes
And how creative, and consistent God is

 vrw©2016