On my first couple of days in Colorado, in a suburb outside Denver, I experienced the pleasure of a leaf storm from the Maples, Sycamores , and Gingko Biloba trees around my kids neighborhood. About twelve years ago, I had a similar experience in Franconia, New Hampshire. I was lost in the experience and my memory blurs yellow and umber hues. This time I stood in the swirl of colors, breathing in the subtle scents of bark, dew, and firewood smoke.
My son had to remind me that I was in the center of the parking lot of his apartment, and a car just drove into the complex. I took a deep breath, entered his car and searched in my purse for something to write with and a piece of paper. I found my pen and the back of his college tuition bill where I released my breath and words onto paper.
Leaf Storm

It’s raining leaves,
russet, gold, burnt orange
snap, crackle, pop
like Rice Krispies
on cold black asphalt,
tumbling crazily
likes lemmings on the way
to a sure death
from a wayward boot
an uncaring rubber tire
a steel rake.
With luck
a flock of children,
a wayward dog
dives into a heap of leaf fire,
red and gold angel wings,
shrieks of joy,
releasing autumn
into memory,

I love Colorado.