An Autumn treasure


The sun danced as it tilted upward and took notice.
It swayed. The breeze was soothing and embraced it as it watched from up above.
There was movement below too, rapid and noisy. But the surface there, faded by overuse, was hard and hot. Nothing pretty, nothing grand.
The breeze kicked up now. It hung on. Nearby others swished and swayed brushing up against it. Turning to see, their colour dazzled for the others offered up golden rod and amber, fire red and even further along, deep rich purple.
It looked itself over. Green, just… green.
But wait, the sun was speaking. “Not just green. I see speckled purple!”
The breeze chuckled. “Not just speckled purple, there is bold red edging its way in, I do believe!”
It did not accept these falsities for it could not see such radiance.
But the branch interjected. “Yes, t’is true. There is an explosion coming! A vibrant flame dappled with a golden spatter and a crimson haze. I see it.”
All at once it woke up. “An explosion?” Happiness settled in.
The sun, the breeze and the branch assured in agreement by nodding their way.
And so, it did not sway any longer. It rose, tall and strong and welcomed the burst of shades.
“Take over colour! I’m ready,” it beckoned.
What a wise one it was to do so for below, amidst the noise and heat, an admirer stood. Her gaze filled with an exultation of sincere pleasure of its stunning beauty.
The breeze helped it bow slightly in gratitude. Unfortunately, that was enough.
Without warning, the grip was lost. The breeze became a torrent of speed and terror. It was falling now… falling fast.
“Oh no!” the sun exclaimed.
“Oh terrible,” the branch echoed.
“It’s alright,” the breeze assured and took over carrying it gently down.
And there, a startling joy emerged…The admirer, holding her hand out, caught it.
With a smile that stemmed from within, she held it gingerly, turning it round and round, caressing it with tender strokes. “Such radiance! So many shades in one.!”
It sighed in relief. “Thank you most sincerely,” it whispered. And it allowed itself to be treasured.

peekiequeen poetry c. 2013

Image from iStockphoto/Matthew Dixon