I walk, as I do, before the sun goes to bed
it happens early these days
despite it being hot enough to sweat
I sit on a hill facing some trees
I pick up a leaf dead and nearly colorless
and crinkle it in my fingers
I laugh for no reason
other than life being funny
then it comes as a rush
torrents of joy through my body
and I see above myself
a bird watching this being
alone on a hill shaking with giggles
I wonder if maybe I am
a child
ripe with newness
or a mad old woman who has seen
too much of the world
or maybe I am both
laughing and crunching leaves
enjoying the sound it makes
crazy and free and whole
feeling too young or too old
for my twenty-six-year-old skin
never getting “used to” being me
in all the coming and going
all the madness and beauty
and I stop laughing for a moment
and stare at the trees
so long they seem to shift
what’s left of their colors melding
their branches beckoning me
to join their yearly party of temporary death
and I concur with myself I must be crazy
and laugh a little more for effect
then I pause to catch up with
the narration in my head
and I realize
I am seeing again
and like the ruined leaf
dying a bit
so I may live a little more bravely
next spring