The leaves are scattering
and so too the people
who came to see them,
their glorious impermanence.
For a little while, until the snow,
I don’t have to wait in lines
at shops or cafés. I don’t have to
remember to stop and gaze myself:
those red maples, sugar maples,
popples gold against the evergreens.
Oaks will come later, but no one
comes here to see the somber oaks.
For a little while there is no demanding,
just the ease of amber and gray,
the silence of these late days,
the beauty of this coming dark.
And last, but not least, the golden glow of the tamaracks against their bare neighbors.