Not the white flakes mounded
in soft drifts on picture post cards

but the brown blizzard of oak leaves
cascading from their stems,

pushed into the void by new life
surging up through every twig.

They cloud the air in windy whirls,
settling on anything immobile.

The earth turns blotchy with them
like some shedding animal,

clogging gutters, paving roads
in a sumptuous display of ruin.

Plastic bags stuffed with them
are stacked like somber pillows

at the edge of every yard, waiting
for disposal trucks.

Uncollected, they clog street drains
dump their sludge into the river.
Better, to let earth return to earth.


Sharon Scholl is a retired college teacher who convenes a poetry critique group and maintains a website ( of original music for donation to small, liberal churches. Her poetry books, Seasons, Remains, Evensong, Classifieds, are available via Amazon Books. Her poems are current in Sangram and Red Rose, Thorns.