Once upon a magical time
in a season we called ‘autumn,’
we would wake to a world
suddenly bathed in dancing colors.
The ten thousand leaves on
the ten thousand trees, one by one
would trade their green for crimson,
or flaming orange, for lemon or lime
or gold. And day by day the colors
would grow more intense, until
the whole world seemed to be singing
with them. And these magical leaves
could fly, too. Down they would spiral
in a twirling, giddy ballet, sailing
through the air like birds suddenly
set free from their wooden cages,
their brilliant bodies piling, one
atop the other, in a quilt of color
on the grasses and rocks and shores.
And we would gasp at the beauty
of it all, and give thanks that we
had eyes to see.