More Than Color

It’s only August
but a lot of trees
around here have leaves
already changing.
Colors are changing
from greens to yellows.

Some leaves are changing
more than their color.

A lot of trees here
have branches gone bare,
with no leaves — not green,
not yellow, not red,
not dry, crinkly brown.
No leaves. Dead branches.

I reached up and grabbed
a big leafless branch
low on a tall tree
right across the street.
I’d seen squirrels playing
not too long ago
up and down the tree.
I pulled at the branch.
The branch tip cracked off
where my hand gripped it.
Then, up by the trunk,
the branch cracked there, too.
The whole branch swung down
and smashed on the street.
The wood was so dry
the bark just shattered
and dust billowed up.

When leaves change color
it’s seasons changing.
Warm summer going,
cold winter coming.

When leaves disappear,
when there’s no color,
no green to yellow
or to red or brown,
what is changing then?

Something is changing.

More than a season.

I watched a branch fall,
smash against the street.

The bark turned to dust.

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Quasi Una Petroleum Fantasia