Figuring Out the Fall

Figuring Out the Fall

Figuring Out the Fall

The trees are so much loftier here. Their leaves are big, flat sheets that shuffle noisily with the slightest bit of stirring or fall from sensational altitude with contrived dignity, like a improvisational dances by ballerinas who withdrew from lessons but then defiantly made an appearance at the recital anyhow. Why aren’t they wearing shades of amber, rust, and gold?

Those aren’t dark clouds in the distance between the tree branches, I am told. Those are mountains. Apparently I must humbly meditate on the performance of irresponsible ballerinas before I’ll be able to see the mountains in all their majesty. How chaotic. How cathartic.

Comments
  • Rachel Munns October 15, 2017 at 9:32 pm

    This is beautiful. I really lovely poem. What is it about Fall that begs for poetry? Love you, lady!

  • Stephen Helbig October 16, 2017 at 1:13 am

    looking forward to this spiritual cleansing … for it’s a true love connection. ~ “Figuring Out the Fall”

    p.s. ~ I see men as trees, said the blind man

  • Mary Vanderplas October 16, 2017 at 6:56 am

    A lovely – and comical! – word picture of your sensory experience of fall in your surroundings. I love your image of brazen not-quite-dancers to describe the attention-capturing leaves.

    Prayers for you in your process of “figuring out” this season of your life – defined by chaos, perhaps, but at the same time anchored in hope – in the One who created and redeems it all.

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