Leaves whisper quietly.
They fold over and around -
pale greens & darker olive hues –
sharing secrets
behind fluttering fronds
& soft bended tips,
slightly wilted
in August heat
& Southern afternoon
steamy gusts.
Like murmers between
intimate friends
words softly spoken
behind guarding hands;
"September's coming,
then October...
We'll flash, flare then fade
& be quietly trodden into
the earth
below.
There will be a short dance -
twirling, shimmering
skirts & coat tails
of saffron & umber,
crimson & ginger -
And then
we'll return.
Bursting out in a
fragrant commotion.
But for now
we ride sweet breezes
& dream of sleep."
Walking beneath them -
I reach up & pass
trailing fingertips
through their tendrils.
I sigh
& long for
the coolness
of their flames.
August 26, 2011 - 12:24pm - written at Provence Cafe in Nashville, TN
