the world wants
and collects
and demands–
and i wonder what the trees think
when they sink
into their growing obligations
and seasonal dress codes

you are always here,
even though you are there

the way the sun rains on leaves,
pouring its heart out,
spilling heat and light
over each scalloped ruby,
inspires a gentle and quiet reverence

while driving down a road in October
i pull into a wooded area,
turn off my music,
take the dog out of the car
and walk along a small path
surrounded by pines–
the trees are dressed in vermillion
and cadmium yellow–
i scoop up a handful of pine needles
and stuff them into my pockets,
take a deep breath
and head back to the car