Falling Gracefully

SUNDAY IN MY CITY

http://www.unknownmami.com/

FALLING GRACEFULLY!

I'm used to the English language;

It's been mine since my birth;

And I think the word 'Autumn' 

Is a word of enormous worth.

But I have to admit that 'Autumn'

Doesn't say as much as 'Fall'.

The earth falls into Autumn

So that word says it all.

I realise that falling leaves

Inspired the word you use

But still 'Fall' really seems to fit;

It's a word I like to choose.

And here's 'The Fall' in Merewether!

We've just been to the beach

Which is in walking distance,

Very easily in reach.

Gone were the crowds of  Summer,

Gone was the blistering heat;

A cool breeze cooled our coffee

And life seemed very sweet.

Sunday in my City....

On a heavenly day in the Fall!

Sometimes I feel so lucky

I can hardly believe it all!

*

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A TREE IS A TREE


I have seen trees before
Many trees
Many times

Marching down highways, plumping up hills,
Straggling behind fence-posts,
Colouring-in far horizons.

I have relaxed in their shade,
Scuffled in their leaves,
Enjoyed their fruit.

I have looked up to them in awe in Canada,
Noted their military precision in Finland,
I have depleted my store of numbers

Counting the shades of green they offer.

I have swooned at the sight of an English chestnut,
Marvelled to see an African baobab,
Delighted in the silver-birch subtlety of the Australian gum.

Millions upon millions of trees.

But a tree was a tree was a tree.
Until yesterday.......
.
When I walked through the bush, with two little boys,.
And we gazed, and we chattered,
And we looked way, way up to the sky,
And then round and round at the rope-like vines,
And then squinted into the deeper bush
Where, surely, 'something' was moving!

We touched new green shoots with our tippy-fingers
And slashed away at the grass with our dry old sticks.
And, all the time, the water in the creek gurgled a tipsy song,
The ferns rode riotously up hill.
And bell-birds tinkled like an orchestra of timpani.
Memories-to-be indeed.

But for me, the fondest memory of the day will be the little hands.
Hands dragging, slashing, stroking, fondling, exploring;

But, most of all, holding mine.

*