Leaves

Riding MAX home from work this deep, mellow, rich voice sat next to me, talking to his sister across miles about leaves. How the Portland Autumn lacks when stacked against "back home" color. And I'm floating down the years to SW Michigan remembering the riot of color from all the deciduous everywhere. Tell me a story of your leaves, I want to say. Spin me your tale of simple joy with your warm chocolate words and a wistfulness for family together love and laughter and life and peace. Float the burnished amber and reds and yellow-greens and orange-browns into piles of sunset blessing, as the evening city passes by out my window and the people drift to each their spheres of living now the familiar Stumptown palette parade. But I pass the chance, the moment is gone, the leaves have fluttered away.