Raking Leaves

Raking Leaves

The litter
of falling leaves
is everywhere:
in streets,
on roofs,
across grass;

     golden maples dropping,
     alders edging brown,
     cherries molting red.

Whirlwind
gathers leaves
in piles,
offering a cushion
for leaping canines
and jumping progeny.

     Drudging job ahead:
     blower drapes,
     rake hangs,
     bin is standing
     in the yard.

Inside warm abode,
poet procrastinates,
words offering excuse
from plunging out
into cool fall air.

Eventually,
reality intrudes
and necessity awakes.
     Poetry is ephemeral,
     ethereal and elusive,
but fallen leaves
are solid wastes.

     Job is done:
     deck cleaned,
     walk swept,
     lawn cleared.

Leaves fall and fall
and a chore is a chore:
     words droop,
     sentences yawn,
     paragraphs nap,
but raking leaves
is soon complete
and is its own reward,
a finite composition.

James Nystrom