by Carole Devine

Created on: October 04, 2010   Last Updated: October 12, 2010

She didn’t remember the leaves turning or falling that year,

Almost a decade ago now.

Never saw the foliage of the maples, birches and oaks

Catching fire,

Painting the landscape anew with their brilliant oranges, reds and yellows

Before floating gently down to earth,

Each leaf a reminder of the brevity of life

But also, in its radiance, of nature’s enduring beauty.

She did remember that morning,

Four weeks before.

Clear blue sky,

Sunlight shimmering through the trees,

Lush, green manicured lawns.

Hope and blissful ignorance and simplicity.

And then everything was grey.

The ashes, the city, the crumbling buildings.

The color of dust and of nothingness and of despair.

And when she could finally open her eyes again,

Could finally look up without flinching,

It was already winter and the trees were bare.

The leaves, those visible under the slush and snow

Showed no signs of their former splendor.

They lay rusty and battered,

Trampled upon by countless boots,

Mangled by thick tire treads,

Lifeless.

When the snow melted and the leaves returned,

Shyly poking their tiny green heads through the branches’ skin

Some hope did return

But not the blissful ignorance,

Never the simplicity.

She did remember the following autumn,

Marveled again at the brilliance of the colors,

Took the children hiking and apple picking.

But the air was never as crisp, the leaves as vibrant,

The changing of the seasons as refreshing and welcome

As in the years before that late summer day.

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