Poetry

The Scent of Fallen Leaves

by

Michael Estabrook

Autumn has arrived here in New England,
a quilt of leaves turning
the landscape into a Monet palate,
the roads into a Jackson Pollack mural,
the air so crisp, the scent of fallen leaves
taking me back to much earlier days
when the future stretched out
before me like the shoreline
of Lake Michigan at dawn.