The season begins
in a blaze—
reds and yellows
burning like small suns
On every branch.

A thousand shades of color
thicken the world
with a beauty
almost too rich
to touch.

But time moves
the way time must.

Color loosens.
Brightness dims.
and the living colors
softens
into sandy
brittle
yellow-brown-rust.

Most leaves
sense the invitation—
feel the subtle unthreading
in their veins—
and loosen their grip.

They let go.

They fall
cleanly,
naked,
into the open wind
that has been waiting
for them
since spring.

Returning.

But some—
some remember
too vividly
the radiance
they once wore.

Their edges tighten.
They tremble
against the pull
of tomorrow.

They forget what they birth in dying.
and cling
to their branches

long after
the light
has left them.