I Know It Is a Way of Preserving Life

I came home this weekend for my Grandma’s eightieth birthday
The leaves hadn’t changed in Washington yet
But they were “at their peak” here

As we were driving back,
I saw them all
Suffused with earthly energy
Glowing with the clouds
In the grey light of the afternoon

And I thought,
This is how I want to remember things
Not green but golden
Chill winds twisting the leaves
Back and forth
And football games
My old band’s sounds
Riverdancing across the field
Shaking some of the leaves;
Twirling to the ground

When I woke up the next morning
I think I slept under the same blanket—
An old, patchwork thing
That reminded me of being a child—
That I had slept under our first night in this house
My bed since then had tried out many positions
But now it was back under the window
Like it had been the first night

When I walk outside
There are so many black birds
Too many to count
And they follow the wind
Spiraling up and down, back and forth in the cold
They’re swirling black dots; anomalies in my field of vision