Flicker

The leaves of fall are their own form of precipitation.
A layered potpourri of changing colors,
Scattered so no ground is certain.
It tracks us about, under our feet,
Travels with us, as mud often times had done.
These branches look as if they are weeping golden tears,
They know soon they will be naked.
Some try to contain the sheddings,
Stack them in neat little piles, push them out from under their guardians.
However, it is in where the leaf chooses to fall, that I find the most beauty,
When these colored artifacts choose to adorn us,
From the time a single droplet wills its way off from home,
To let the wind decide its destination.
For in a single moment’s flicker, it is evident that each has a story to tell.
And, each has a profound effect,
On the way I perceive this world.