WINTER LEAVES

As winter leaves,

The last of winter’s leaves

Congregate

In corners, crevices, and crannies

Like old women gossiping

They give occasional nervous flutters

As though having been suspiciously watching for my broom.

I approach and some snap to attention

A small cackling crackle of life

Yes - they had been waiting…

My broom moves and so do they

Lightly awkward

or

Gracefully clumsy

or

Careful in a cavalier kind of way…

They all run away

In rhythm to some unknown energy

Laugh dancing across the porch

I watch.

I consider.

What if it is not the wind?

What if it is of their own accord?


~Sister Saxon~