Autumn Trampoline

Extra helpings of leaves and twigs everywhere after the storm last night (though the trampoline already had its fair share), including this gorgeous specimen.

Perfected in being written off, many dead leaves are shining examples, exquisite studies, abstracts of decay as beautiful and complete as the richly coloured and textured hulls of old cargo ships. Here's a little post-Autumnal poem I wrote a few years ago, about the next stage, when the trampoline loses its bounce:

No Longer Hectic Red

or vanilla, lime… Autumn’s ferment has passed
leaving on wet paths heaps
of the sodden departed –– flaky tidelines, compost
of sour smoke, forest floors ––
that will not lightly rise and break like surf
but choke the gutters and stick
to windshields and the soles of shoes and thus
walk into the house.