As leaves tremble shimmering
in dressy hues of death
and cling through drying,
the weakening flow of sap
and at last, when the breeze is exactly right,
fall in spiraling dance, lovely twists and turns,
to rest between the gnarling feet of parent trees,
so are concerns, worries, and alas—even passions—
disengaging themselves from the twines and tendrils and stems,
and all life’s complexities, the concentration—
burning colors: saffron, cyan, russet for the last days,
that’s all you see now – the rage long hidden,
masked by lusty, productive greens.
But the fury made them go, don’t you realize that?
And now passion itself departing
gracefully, after all
letting go is what we need to do,
we crones and grizzly-haired wizards,
that’s where we retreat for autumn and brace for winter –
to ideas and dreams and the comfort of
soft moose skin moccasins
and Hopi designs, gently woven into blankets,
all that hold me close –
these days that tremble shimmering.