Free Verse#1: The Feel of Fall

Sound, sound. It surrounds me.
What is there to hear?
Tchik tchik tchik tchika tchik
That’s the leaves, you know.
Then there’s a great roar through the treetops.
I know because I can hear it.
Shlap shlap chuuushlap.
Newspaper?
A plastic bag. Well,
I suppose they sound about the same.
Then there’s my footsteps
The only even sound.
Until they…slow…and…
Stop.
Now there’s only the leaves, the trees.
And the plastic.

There’s cold from behind me,
Swishing over my skin,
Through my clothing.
Almost like arms, caressing. Or silk.
No,
It’s turned. it’s coming from the front now.
A leaf hits my leg and I can feel it
Through the fabric.
My hair is lifted from my shoulders,
Waving about in the air.
I feel it on my scalp, cold.
And what’s this? A dot of cold,
Wet, on my upturned lips. And another on my eye.
It runs, drips,
Ooover my face
And is blown off into the air.

And the smell, it’s almost…
Nonexistent. There, but so faint.
The smell of turning leaves,
Earthy, fragrant.
And there.
That clean scent before the world’s great cleaning.
And there’s the smell of the cold itself.
Crisp. Fresh. Ahhh.

You can taste it, too.
The cold.
It rests on your tongue, smooth,
While swirling through your mouth
And throat.
All the way to your stomach, if you let it.
The leaves are there with it
When you close your mouth.
You can taste their slow decay,
Sweet, sweet, earth.
I lick my lips and taste water on my tongue.

And there’s color.
All around. Red, green, yellow, brown leaves.
And all the brightness of the debris.
Gray sidewalks, street. Painted yellow lines.
I see them.
Movement as the trees sway,
The leaves tumble and float off of them.
Newspapers flap,
Feebly,
Against the tires
Of the truck they are pinned to.
A cat streaks across my path.

Only my path isn’t there.
How can it be when I’m not moving?
And all the world is fluttering around me.
Only my body doesn’t move.
Well, my hair raises.
And my arms are lifting
I think of their own accord.
They caress the air that streams by
Collect wetness in the palms.
But only a little.
My legs move me in a circle
Slowly
At first.
Then I pick up speed.
A laugh bubbles between my wet lips.

And suddenly I’m no longer me.
I live in the wind
And rain.
In all the cold that sweeps across me.
In all the leaves
Like partners in an intricate dance.
They touch me lightly on the arms, the legs, face.
So does the water.
Their spirit is me,
Ah, that beautiful spirit
With it’s brightness in the gray of the sky.

And suddenly it stops.
And I’m left
Breathing shallowly,
In the street.
The leaves twitch then fall motionless to the ground.
And the trees are still.
The roaring is no more.
The rain still falls,
Though heavier now.
It runs over my skin.
I walk again, a path before me,
Footsteps being covered by the patter of water
On the yellow painted lines.