The leaves fall on chilled air
They flutter a bit
And collect in the gutters
and cling to the pavement around the tires of parked cars.
Wind and rubber soles
batter what's left of orange skeletons.

Sometimes I feel like a lawn care man
with a leaf blower
A job only done to feed my family
with no thought of the trees that used these to give us shade
or the god who gave us the trees
just living, existing, to gather up the remains.