Autumnal Reflections
By Tatiana Pahlen

When dried leaves tumble,
spinning, colorful butterflies,
helplessly falling,
my open palms welcome their landing
with arms spread out.
I savor their spicy scent;
the swiftly changing hues touch my eyes
with pensive sorrow.
The loud colors — a hidden cry,
a glamorous self-defense
to counter ever fading,
formidable, seductive . . .
I'm spellbound by this fleeting beauty
of venous pattern,
deeply stamped on the forms so fragile.
As a child I walked past bare trees,
picking dry leaves
to place between pages,
and carry in books,
treasured for years and years.

October, 1993

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