by Diane Destiny

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Autumn in New York

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AUTUMN IN NEW YOUR That year, trees clung to their leaves, refused to release them, wouldn’t let them fall. The leaves turned, green to red, to yellow, to brown. Spotted with dirt made ragged by insects, they were held by the stubborn limbs. Leaves themselves wouldn’t let go, stuck to the tight mother-glue of green sap that nourished them, some reached their potential, some faced early demise. All Stubbornly held fast. Men did not rake or mound them. No children mashed them into snapping, crackling shreds. That year limbgs and leaves held onto each other, in terror of hurtling down, destruction by fire. This winter, 2001 buried in memory, the leaves will release and drop, baring the limbs. By Joyce Stein

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