Crackling

Crackling

In a big pile of leaves

A faint moldy smell coming from the damp interior

Socks soggy from the wet that crept in the side of the shoe that has lifted away from the sole

Souls put into the effort of jumping feet first into the crackling

Rolling around, breathing it in,

Broken pieces of brittle leaf clinging to our clothes and hair

Building leaf houses then demolishing them

And now, I’m trying to summon up some of that leaf energy of old

But all I get is a sense of creeping damp and cold

and that unrelenting mold of sodden leaves

Where has the crackling gone?

Janet Bellinger

C 2005