Falling Leaves

There’s magic in the air today
Went for a walk
To catch messages
Sent my way

Yellow ochre leaves
Flutter around me

In front
A stocky, old, Asian man
The Yin Yang Gang
Emblazoned on his back
Bow legged
Pulling a collapsible shopping cart
Steps off the curb
Kicks something
Steps up and back down again
Kicks once more
A ball bouncing across the road
Lightens his load

Behind
A voice in the distance
Coming nearer and louder
A slim cyclist
On a grey, green serviceable bike
Bag draped over
Handle bar
His song unselfconscious
Words unintelligible
Singing to his i-pod?
No matter to him or to me
This is what it is to be free

Across
The street
Woman, middle-aged, running
Her left leg engulfed
In a black leg brace
Shock waves
Through her body
Her head
Angled to the right
Pain
Releasing pain
She withdraws from
To within
What makes her run?
Day after day
Carrying within her
That which she can not escape

Towards me
At that same moment
Another runner
Glides effortlessly
Smiles
Momentary waves
Hi
In a flash
He’s passed us by

Before me
In the distance
At first sight
A couple clutched together
Become
A young, black man
Providing support
For his tall, slim, dapper
Elderly
Blind friend
Ease, gentleness, patience, trust
Wash over me
A bending blade of grass
Wrapped up in conversation
I am invisible as they pass.

I took my father’s
Writing pad today
If he was baring it
He’d stop each one
And say,
“Tell me sir or madam
Where are you from?
Tell me your name
Tell me your story
Who are you?"

For days I wondered

Does the oak mourn its

falling

leaves?

(copyright Nance Thacker '09)