This poem describes trees that I see when I walk around my neighborhood this time of year, and the transitions that take place throughout the seasons.
Cycles
Sugar Maples’ leaves turn orange and gold in the soft, Tennessee autumn light.
Floating downwards, they free branches to slipstream through winter winds.
They lie like quilted rugs beneath bare branches; transformation awaits them.
Dried crackling leaves shiver as they receive snowflakes’ cold, wet kisses.
Underneath their white blankets, decaying leaves change into crumbly soil for roots.
Dormant trees, triggered by lengthening days of sunlight, sense a quickening.
New leaf buds, clothed in green attire, shoot forth like rockets from launching pads.
Pirouetting leaves dazzlingly dance in spring and summer breezes until frosts return.