Fall in Central Park

Fall Morning in Central Park

Tendrils of morning light

spill from scarlet tree limbs

their glittery haze drapes

like a king’s cape, coaxing you

toward Autumn sun—

but a crisp wind chills the space

between daylight and shadow

a season that begins with endings, yet

I never anticipate the acorn’s baffling thud;

the maple leaves’ fluttering descent

falling through the dawn

Return to Earth

Swung from your highest branch—

where limbs longingly reach

from tree to tree, and

in the space between,

an acorn catapults

into a small leap of faith.

For a moment, it soars

with the blue bird’s song,

falls like a startling rain,

and bumps my head—then,

returns to its pillowy rest

of Earthly foliage