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  • Writer's pictureChristine Stevens

Autumn by Christine Stevens with apologies to Mary Oliver

Updated: Apr 20




I wanted to calculate

the number of leaves per minute

that were falling from

my blazing maple.


I wanted to measure the moment when

these flame filled shade givers

release their tenuous link

to the greater good

and


float

waft

plunge


to an indifferent lawn,

joining a battlefield of dried corpses,

the papery remains of their compatriots.


I wanted to count the ways my own life

has detached from itself and descended

into a void

not knowing what lay at the bottom

or if there even was one.


But mostly,

I wanted to know

how many goddamned leaves

I was going to have to

rake up

on a windy Saturday in late October.


It was 6.


Per minute.


You do the math.


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