on the lawn late one summer

From the front porch steps, I see the tree bending like a weary homeless woman. She sags to cover her knobby, beat up roots. Shrinking beneath my watching eyes, in an attempt to hide her disgracing poverty. Scarlet creeps around the edges of her leaves, all she can manage of an apology for her offense to the ideals of beauty. Her branches waver, defeated by a strong breeze. She leans with age, and it is enough to make me burst into tears. I stand, I mean to throw my arms around her and reassure it by my embrace. But the fence frowns with such disarming disapproving, I repent of my emotions.

I stretch out my hand to catch the glimmering light, but it spills through my fingers like water poured out. This time of day kisses me, today with bittersweetness. It kicks my lungs like a mouthful of salt water, over ripe with memory and soiled by my lonely heart. The shadows grow and awaken with a stretch and yawn, lapping up the colors as they flee the skies blushing skin. The aroma of rain lingers as heat makes its departure, mocking me all the more for having counted myself its companion. Noise rings distantly in my ears, draining away beneath an inner commotion. I hold my breathe, counting, but this outlasts me. Like a bully, teasing, teasing. It's a neighbor in all the eyes I see. Every one is always further, everyone is getting farther away. I hug my knees to my chest in acknowledgment of subtle autumn's advancing steps.

The tree reaches for me across the fence and I smile. Ah, who can be lonely with these trees? She shakes loose one treasured golden leaf which floats towards me slowly. And as it falls she whispers with the timeless voice of leaves, that sounds like moss and tangled vines: Remember we are really growing younger. And I can not help but believe her.