Fall begins with disconvocation of leaves.
Once spread to sky and connected to roots
by veins wide open,
now hardened, broken off, scattered—
lone and dreary.
The golden generation has ended.
The lofty fruited treetops
are brought low and made to kiss the earth.
But hush!
The giving tree sleeps, but is not dead.
Gather the pieces and mulch around it.
Rake
them across gardens and pin them sweetly.
Make
the rhythmic, heaving music of decomposing.
Take
all you can, from the wettest, farthest corners.
Break
them down in your hands until you
ache.
Fall is messy death, but
undead trees whisper low the message:
fertilization is love.
Now—
All kinds of seeds fit in this snow,
you know.
And we are already planted until Spring.
Christopher grew up in Raymond, Alberta and loves plants and big skies. His childhood was an ongoing nature walk, and very little has changed since then. His faith is heavily influenced by the diversity he finds in the natural world. The more he learns about creation, the more he believes that God must be somebody totally cool. He majored in English at Brigham Young University, with a minor in Women’s Studies. Christopher then went on to graduate as a registered nurse from the University of Lethbridge and currently works with seniors as a home care case manager. He is married to his high school crush and will gush to anyone who listens about his 5 children. He likes them even more than plants. Besides plants and poetry, Christopher also has a lifelong obsession with molluscs.
