Beneath The Surface

Tired leaves
carpet the ground like confetti
after a wedding,
— cast aside and forgotten— 
faded to a dull montage
in muted shades
of their former selves,
though the blanket they once laid 
across the breast of Mother Earth
was more delicate than antique lace
and as beautiful as aged silk. 

But the rains have come,
bleeding them of their identity,
draining the ink of their existence
until there is nothing left
but the memories,
and as I walk among the remnants
of what used to be,
I think I see a reflection of myself
hidden there among them,
and their sadness calls to me
for I am them 
and they are me.

Caught off guard, 
I grip my collar against 
the soft, cool kiss 
of a robust Autumn breeze  
as the half-dry leaves are stirred
around my feet.

And there, 
painted upon the sidewalk 
as if by the hand 
of some unseen artist,
there lies a masterpiece 
in the richest shades of auburn,
amber, bronze and antique gold;
a miracle of nature laid bare
to remind me that beauty 
is sometimes only seen 
by those who look
beneath the surface  
	 




october 2005
Janet Reid



Awarded by Poetic Constellations ~ June 25- July 1, 2006

					



Awarded by New Horizons