Do leaves dream of falling
on a stifling summer’s day?
Of finally finding freedom
when the wind whisks them away?

Have they memory of the trees
that nourished them from birth?
That offered them the sun
and the fullness of the earth?

Are those first few hours of leaving
a delirious, fun-filled treat?
Is that why they burn brilliant
and turn cartwheels in the street?

Do they sense what is forthcoming
as autumn sneaks away?
Do they welcome winter’s stillness
and a landscape cold and gray? 

I think these thoughts in watching
as my youngest packs his Jeep.
The leaving is the hardest
on those whose roots are deep.

© by Mike Orlock.
Used with the author’s permission.