Autumn found me landlocked

taking long walks, along paths
growing increasingly invisible
under fallen maple and oak leaves,

I would pause beneath the canopy
of brilliantly glowing golden magenta so impassioned
it threatened
to spontaneously combust.

This was no mere quiet dying of the season,
but some sort of ancient ritual
kamikaze explosion of light and color,

and my heart pondered whether to run for my life,
or remain – for my life.

© martha lee phelps