Driving the country road in fall,
I often observe the colorful leaves—
pale yellow to warm marigold,
dusty orange to radiant red—speckled
throughout trees across flat farmlands.
This time, one row of trees stands out—
their tops ablaze in autumn, but
towards their trunks, still summer green—
like they’re pulling on sweaters, halfway
there, as they swap seasons.
I think—isn’t that the way with change?—
this snapshot of a moment in transition, when
there is this clunky divide—stuck
between the green foundation of the past,
and branches that reach for vibrant colors
of what could be or is yet to come.