a single oak leaf spirals down

the way down, after the way up   

little depends upon a single oak leaf
spiraling gently down, down, into a stream,

an overwhelming percentage of its fellows
already blurs the forest floor brown
and they pile up wherever wind and water carry them,

oak leaf after oak leaf tarried
and then takes its turn toward the ground,
many lightly caught by interposing branches,

in high Summer a few precocious leaves turn early,

in late Fall a few die-hard leaves wait
to go gently back into the earth,

I love it that I am here to witness
a few of those last graceful spirals,

as the way down can be as heartening as the way up.

by Henry H. Walker
November 23, ’12