I found two tiny brown feathers
on the sidewalk
and a puff of raptor down
caught on the grasses.
I picked some berries off the autumn olives
that line the sidewalk
and ate them,
careful not to spit the seeds
where they might grow.
The plants are aggressive
and invasive,
but also edible,
a friend has called them
“sweetarts of the forest”
and this is indeed how they taste.
We watched our shadows precede us
and talked of dreams and desires,
wondering and wishes.
As we neared the car,
a gust of wind swirled into
the walnut tree ahead of us
and a cascade of yellow leaves
began to dance and twirl
through the air.
I’ve written before of being in
an autumn snowglobe
and though I try to think of another way to describe it,
that is truly how it feels
to stand with your head
tilted back
laughing into the blue sky
as the leaves come drifting down around your shoulders.
This time, as I looked up,
a hawk,
previously unseen,
tilted down out of
the walnut branches
and slid away into the trees
above my head.
We all need time for restoration
and replenishment,
time to stand laughing
in the leaves
with the sweet-tart flavor
of October
on our tongues.
(Side note: red fruits actually pictured are on a crabapple tree, not an autumn olive.)
And, my new book, In the Temple of the Ordinary is now available for pre-order!
