November 2 by Ray Mullineaux

Tomorrow, remembrance of dad’s passing;

this morning, the sunlight streaming across the

gingko leaves loosens the frost’s hold to

free them from their branches.

My delight in the choreography

composed of still air, gravity and wet leaves

draws me to abandon my cup

to stand amidst the dancers.

Stems aloft, maidenhair leaves twirling

a last turn slap the memory bricks which

march to surround the fountain.

Once adorned by a dancing iron maiden,

long removed, the fountain

now adores the gingko

with its summer water show..

The spinners on their pointed stems

plumb swiftly to

rustle in the grass.

Begowned waltzers sashay to

the end of their festival dance.

There are kamikazes, divers who glide from

uppermost branches to lay beats

on the taut Winter fountain cover.

The path and grass subside

under massing soft, wet, golden petals.

The sun shimmers on the faint cirrus in the blued lead sky. A few leaves yet wait for tomorrow. I make roses from littered petals 'til I notice the waiting buds plaiting troth to the husbandry of spring.

rhm, 12 12 2019, revised 6 9 2020

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