Rise, Reach, Descent

A Poem

Rise, Reach, Descent

Sitting on the porch,
my mother said
the whole life
of an oak tree
is imprinted in the acorn
its rise, its reach,
its descent,
already there.

A late-summer breeze
moved through.
We didn’t know
it was only weeks
before my father
died.

Now, rain glistens
on red maples
as branches grow bare
and the bone-cold breath
of winter
seeps in.

Only after my father died
could I hold the shape
of his life
like a solid object,
its rise, its reach,
its descent—
cradled in my palms
while his memory
rose around me
like mist, lifting
into the falling leaves.

© Photo by Jodi Proctor

© Photo by Jodi Proctor

Thank you for reading! Your presence and encouragement is more meaningful than you know.

As always, I would love to hear your thoughts. What is your own favourite simple pleasure of autumn? Please drop a comment below.

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