Bonfire on Ray Street
by Donna O’Shaughnessy

Fall boasts
With her warm daytime frosting
Spread over a cool evening center
Tree branches loosen their grip
Leaves twist free, drift melancholy
A moody wind shifts upward
Ephemeral hands gather the leaves
Cast them into a sun streamed vortex
Forming a swirl at the driveway’s end
The light turns the leaves
From brown to rust
         flaxen to gold
         mustard to orange
         umber to crimson
These hues bounce off each other
A stained-glass funnel
A crackling kaleidoscope of deciduous dancers
Twirling, writhing, within Autumn’s last symphony
Until the wind disappears and the leaves crash
My father rakes them into a pile, sets it ablaze
The crispy corpses turn to ash
There is no still without wind
              no color without grey
              no spring without this



 

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