The Wind Calls
The wind calls me: it rustles leaves
Dressed in their autumnal finery,
Varicolored, they dance, and ask me
To join with them in the swirling cascade-
Reds, golds, yellows, oranges: how I love
The season. I haven’t danced in a long time.
I know something the leaves don’t:
The whirling, swirling madness is
A dance of death. In order for there to be
A dance next year, this year’s dancers
Must fall to the ground exhausted,
And give themselves up to nourish
The generation:who will come in spring..
I used to dance: didn’t know better.
Thought I would live forever,
Listened to the wind and capered on
Oblivious to what my heart was telling me.
Perhaps it wasn’t my heart. I confuse
Heart and brain so often. Whatever it was
Talked to me of the leaves’ death,
And I so did not want to die.
I stopped dancing.
All things die in time,
Nothing lives forever, and to live
In fear of dying is to have died already,
And that’s worse. So I hear the wind
Calling me, beckoning me with its cool breath
And I see my partners, all dressed for the ball,
Twirling in the branches. They look so splendid.
I have decided to join them, fate be damned.
I want to dance, I intend to dance,
The wind invites: I will dance.
October 18, 2010