Drop The Rake

The autumn wind
swirls up a drifting-down
of red and brown and gold,
and I let go
of my dignified years.
To laugh,
chase,
and leap.
Grasping,
snatching;
catching moments and memories
of fallen pasts.
Using gentle aggression,
knowing
that to hold too tightly
will crumble-crunch the leaf
in my hand.
Ignoring the stares
of my buttoned-down neighbors
who have let
their wonder-filled child
be locked in the cellar.
Until, finally
I trip on a tree root
and lie gasping,
staring into blue sky
and falling leaves.