by Lorenzo Piccoli
And the way fall comes in a crescendo of leaves.
There was a time we listened to this music without Youtube.
When brownness was not death,
And branch cello’s were not bare,
But alive with music.
This was when you sat
Below the tree in autumn, and heard the beat below
Your feet, and the type of tuning the leaves made for the next day.
Atuned, both you and treetops,
You suddenly hear this musical movement, and hearclearer, the seasons, and reasons, for change.
The Creator (el maestro) and you.