The Fall of the Leaf

 

Away in the Northern Hemisphere, the leaves are falling (I am reminded online) – leaves of gorgeous reds and yellows. In temperate Tasmania, where I grew up, sometimes, in some places, we saw such colours in Autumn, on trees introduced by the early European settlers. Here, now, in the sunny sub-tropics, my final settling-place, we seldom see anything but evergreens. I don’t mind that; I love the sun! And I love to be surrounded by all-year greenery, in this sweet rural town where trees line the roads and even the most urban streets.

In the Southern Hemisphere, we have Spring right now. One of the few deciduous tropical trees, the big frangipani that spreads all over the front wall of my home, has been starkly bare all winter (after its huge brown leaves littered the lawn; nothing pretty about them). Now it quietly begins to revive, putting forth tiny, spiky shoots at the ends of a few branches. I look forward to the fragrant flowers which will come.

ageing, slowing

I watch the seasons renew –

how much longer?

Written for Haibun: "The Fall of the Leaf"  at dVerse.

It Gave No Cause

(Elegy for Leonard Cohen)

The end came 

with a fall in the night:

sudden, unexpected, 

peaceful.

Busy growing frail, 

working diligently,

he felt the window 

getting narrower.

His working pace was slow,

polishing for many years.

A new set of tracks

the morning he died:

spiritual wisdom;

dark, self-effacing wit.

( ... after the event,

not to know ... )

NaPoWriMo 2025, Day Twenty-Nine. 

Prompt: to write a poem that takes its inspiration from the life of a musician, poet, or other artist. This is a found poem, in the form of an erasure of the article, 'For Leonard Cohen, the End Came With a Fall in the Night' by Ben Sisario, published in The New York Times, Nov. 16 2016. Rather than 'find' and string together single words in a sea of erasures, I've used whole phrases from the text – though in a way that sometimes subtly alters fine shades of meaning.

Also sharing with Poets and Storytellers United for Friday Writings #196: Hello Fall! Strictly speaking, this is off-prompt, but the winding down at the end of a life can be considered autumnal. 

The Voice of Autumn

Autumns in Australia, at their best, are somnolent, sun-drenched, beneficent, replete – my favourite season. The voice of that kind of autumn is heard in the steady hum of happy bees, the drone of a tractor in a paddock across the valley, the gentle snores of a sleepy afternoon.

At their worst they are WET! This year, autumn here began with serious flooding – the third time in rapid succession over recent years. 

To be more precise: the March 2017 flood was the worst ever in this town, until then. The one in February this year was even worse, then the one in March this year worse still. The voice of Autumn 2022 was drumming rain for days, weeks. For those in the path of the water it was huge, relentless noise – the noise of something terrible coming; something inevitable, inescapable. Like an earthquake, or a large aircraft about to crash into your walls. Of course it arrived after dark. It was debris banging heavily against the walls all night – no pattern to the sudden hits; each time a new and different shock, crash, jolt, assault.

For the rest of us it was the silence of the dawning day when the rain had at last subsided, but the water all around meant we stayed in our homes for many days thereafter. Luckily we had enough warning to stock up on food and groceries ahead of time – because even if we could have got out, the delivery trucks to the shops couldn’t get in.

Those voices of autumn have faded now, receded. But they linger in memory still. We listen with half an ear always cocked, for the next time autumn wants to rage and yell. We no longer trust in the benevolence of this pretty part of the world.

slow to clear –

piled debris of a life 

I thought I knew 

If you watch the whole video, it shows things getting progressively worse.

Written in response to Haibun Monday: aki no koe (Autumn's voice) at dVerse.