When Autumn comes to Connecticut

It is Autumn in New England
and the cry of the leaf blowers
is heard in the land.

Like huge birds, their raucous
mating cries sound
across the lawns of Cheshire,
drowning out everything
but their passion.

Men with ear protectors
vacuum the leaves into
large wooden boxes
on the backs of trucks
and carry them away
to who knows where....

The leaves, who gave
us joy in their greening,
are like and embarassment
in their old age.

They must be hauled away--
out of sight and out of mind.

We keep our leaves
and pile them down from
our deck and let them repose
in peace. Decades of them
now, pressed down by snow,
together--our old friends--
dignified and rotting,
which is natures way.

The red maple in the back,
the one I can see out the window
to my right,
is holding  her leaves for dear life.
 Few have fallen.
The ones that remain
shimmer with an almost
day-glow orange
in the afternoon sun.
They should not fear the end.
They will be gathered together
to wait for the snow.

We don't forget our friends....