They change into glorious colors: orange, red, crimson, and gold.

They bask in the sunlight so brave, so bold.

When they were green their purpose provided much needed shade

For years, serving me and backyard neighbors as a barricade.

As the season gets older and their transformation looms

I can’t stop watching the leaves fall off and swoon.

It’s like watching a ballet, so graceful are they

That I bet God applauds each Fall play.

On highways they dance to the wind between each lane.

They look as if they’re playing catch me if you can.

I see them from my kitchen windows on trees much older than me.

They offer such meditative scenery, you see.

On walks, I can’t stop taking photos of them

In vertical and horizontal poses around each bend.

Then all of a sudden just after they nervously wave,

Their colors once so “hue-tiful” become dull and fade.

Soon after, one or two gustily winds

Become too much for every limb.

The leaves lay on the soon dormant low-cut grass

And become the carpet for winter, at last.

My favorite time of the year reminds me of wonders,

More importantly, fall leaves help me forgive myself from past blunders.

Like them I had such a colorful past.

And also like them my colors didn’t last.

I am faced to spend the rest of the season

Without them and my No. 1 son, gosh, I am deeply grieving.

The music flowed from his heart and filled me with colors bright as a rainbow.

No wonder the silence, his absence, has brought me so low.

I’ve learned so much about the legacy he’s left,

From teachers, parents and his students who like me are all now bereft.

When I hear their glorious tributes I am stunned for so long.

They catch me off guard for them having witnessed my son’s song.

A year will go by before fall leaves begin their transformative journey.

My chapter has no end, but when I see my son again, I’ll be rising from a gurney.

Excited, arms opened, and head lifted upwards,

Thanking God for the gift of those 49 years, as I muster.