Autumn Leaves
| In the hush and the lonely silence |
| Of the chill October night, |
| Some wizard has worked his magic |
| With fairy fingers light. |
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| The leaves of the sturdy oak trees |
| Are splendid with crimson and red. |
| And the golden flags of the maple |
| Are fluttering overhead. |
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| Through the tangle of faded grasses |
| There are trailing vines ablaze, |
| And the glory of warmth and color |
| Gleams through the autumn haze. |
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| Like banners of marching armies |
| That farther and farther go; |
| Down the winding roads and valleys |
| The boughs of the sumacs glow. |
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| So open your eyes, little children, |
| And open your hearts as well, |
| Till the charm of the bright October |
| Shall fold you in its spell. |
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| —Angelina Wray |
This is my neighbor’s tree. In the span of two days it turned the most brilliant, fiery scarlet orange—the kind of color that seems to pulse and throb in the sunshine. Two days later it had shed every leaf and its branches were completely bare. My neighbor is a diligent man, with a tidy lawn and tidy house and tidy children. He cleaned up the entire pile of leaves in one afternoon, before they were even dry. Before anyone jumped in them.
