(autumn) (spring) (winter) (summer)
Leaves fall (autumn) and I rake them up,
Placing them on the garden (spring) where
Still standing dead (winter) sunflowers feed birds.
To think just a few weeks ago they were (summer)
(Green, not) yellow or red (or) falling from the trees
Sometimes knocked off by pesky squirrels (red)
And picked up by me (green) thinking of all
The work I have to do and (yellow) don’t want to.
But here I am anyway, now white headed (winter)
Raking up all these beautiful leaves (autumn)
And wondering why I ever thought (summer) I
Had much time to spend (spring) with kids
Who are gone with the leaves (autumn) soon
To be buried beneath the snows (winter)
Like me or some buried ancestor (red)
Taking pride in me out here raking (green) leaves.
I guess that’s what living is all about (yellow)
Never taking time to notice (yellow) things
When you should (green) and getting angry
When you should(n’t) (red).
November 2022
About This Poem
I spend an inordinate amount of time raking leaves in the fall and it never ceases to impress upon me aspects of living, or, in this case, life itself. I titled it after all of the seasons because they are all there in the act of raking and living. The seasons are parenthetical to the act itself, because it's obviously autumn. They are also not in any logical order because life tends to jumble its seasons, at least in our minds. Right now it's in the 90s but I'm recalling autumn winds and raking leaves as if it were happening right now because, in a sense, it is.
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