Learning from Leaves
        Beginning with one line by Wallace Stevens

by Wilda Morris

In the sound of a few leaves
sighing in the breeze, I hear the call
of my childhood. I am transported back
to the branch of the apple tree
where I sat savoring sweet fruit and playing
with Sis or pondering what life
would bring, feeling safe and free.

In the sound of a few leaves
rustling, responding to the susurration
of the surrounding woods, I am called
to add my murmurs to the conversation
and to listen for the wisdom in their words.

In the sound of a few leaves
crackling under foot, I am forced
to face my future, asked to puzzle out
the edges of an enigma: how the dead
can nourish the living. What whispers
will I leave when I float free?

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