Ah, I think I see a few of the tricks now.

It’s easy not to cling to the last snow of the season,

coming as it does at the end of so long a winter.

And the last daffodil, the last swallowtail butterfly, the last ripe pear –

they’re noted only in retrospect, so it’s not very difficult to let them go.

In the fall, the maple leaf devotes itself so completely to its changes that,

blazing into a timeless moment,

it simply releases from its branch

and softly descends

 

All rights reserved.
Posted by kind permission of Richard Nowogrodzki.

 

 


Nature
Poetry