In His Fallen Leaf Season

I will not think of you

Lying here old and withered

Like fallen leaves in November,

Helpless in your ocher valleyed season

Slowing your walk,

Slurring your talk.

Rather, I will see you

Spirited as the wind-tossed grain

You threshed each fall,

Strong as the great cottonwoods

Shading your home, teacher of plowing

And sage words.

Furrowed in my memory

Is the tune you whistled

As you pioneered each day.

I will imitate it,

Letting it rebound from son to son

Like flat stones flung across water,

The legacy of your tall tree spirit

Rippling into an endless circling of family.