Rusty Leaves

rusty leaves 001


they fell,


and curling

their way

through darkness

while I slept

and spirits

dozed, as

naked trees

bent to

the ground,

the face

of the earth


its eyes and

the crickets

came inside.

* * *

Poem, Rusty Leaves, by Mary O’Connor, originally published in The Aurorean, Fall, 1998, and reprinted in Dreams of a Wingless Child  © 2007 Wheatmark, Tuscon, Ariz. © 2007. Photo by Mary O’Connor © 2014.

Requesting your presence


Consider the giant oaks

holding up their arms

to the owls and crows,

to the woolly bears

and the tiny titmouse—

and take comfort

in their reach.

Think of the sugared

maples, changing

their leaves to gold,

their shadows to shade.

See the towering pine,

dusting the globe

of the moon—and

be assured.

Trees—when studied—

offer no words, no

answers, no intent.

But feel their furrowed

and ancient limbs.

Gather their seeds.

Be still

and ponder presence.

* * *

Originally published under title of “Meditation” in Dreams of a Wingless Child, Mary O’Connor, Wheatmark Press © 2007

Maple tree photo by Mary O’Connor © 2014