I am wandering ALONE among Autumn, nearly UNNOTICED. I witness my feet FALL DOWN through leaves to packed trail. This day is already WRITTEN somewhere in the past, I am sure, the HALF-BROKEN memory of this same trail, these same woods, but not this same debris of tree. Each year, the forest dies different. My feet are soft mallets here, making SHUFFLING music — shish shoosh shish shoosh — and it seems as if I am wandering among an artist's studio, my boots covered in rhythmic hues.
Text: The Locust Tree in Flower by William Carlos Williams https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=20221
Image: “Réserve naturelle Alfred-Kelly 2” flickr photo by Duda Arraes https://flickr.com/photos/duda_arraes/33337863181 shared under a Creative Commons (BY-NC-ND) license