The Traveler – A Fall Poem

Most people wouldn’t notice him
Or it.
But he noticed
and therefore
did I.

It–swirling, spinning,
dipping, ducking, dancing–
it fluttered to the earth:
A paper-thin, delicate, dried-out thing
its curling corners
browning with age.

So was he!
Intricately wrinkled,
but in the best of ways.
You could see the smile lines
crinkling at the corners of his eyes–
those eyes!
Crystal and alive,
sharp and twinkling,
daringly saying,
“I may be old,
but I’m not dead yet!”
I wondered at those eyes.

Limber, he stooped,
and picked up the leaf–
careful not to let it crumble
as he shielded it from the breeze that had spurred
its flight to earth–
and stuck it in his hat.
It was jaunty and precarious.

Then off he strode,
that wrinkled traveler–
whistling!
And I remained,
swinging in the trees
(who were whispering)
and I not realizing
what it was I’d seen.

fall 6

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