TARANTELLA

All summer long the leafage greenly adorns
The maple, fleshing out its fullness, a body
Soft and rounded. But now the green turns gaudy.
October’s end is a time for skeletons.

Today the wind is gusting lustily.
The anchoring stems are weak and dry; they crack
And the runaways flee like a zany hectic flock
Of varicolored bats out on a spree.

Frolicking, interweaving, riding thermals,
The crowded ether fills with flaming giant
Snowflakes whirling, gliding, earth-defiant,
Flying, floating, gravity in ferment,

Proud to accept the Halloween bequest
Of a burial tarantella before they rest.

(62, October 29, 1992)

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Comments

Reading these words… I remember the joyful feeling of jumping into a 8 foot pile of leaves, feeling the pile sink under my weight and smelling the season.