I descend into a reverie with the fall of a leaf.
Thoughts alight from the vine, to collect in the till of furrowed dirt;
infused by an aroma of earth, sun and grape.
I remember the old sycamores that breathed the summer heat
and exhaled life in saffron and gilt upon the garden they once shaded.
The roses have also bequeathed their beauty to the soil - delicate,
and undisturbed.
I wander to the walnut tree - I shook its branches; gathered the nut.
I hear the sharpness of its cracking;
I feel the splintering of its shell - I savor its bitter meal.
--Edward M., 59
