0018 Man Raking Leaves (Re Jim Morrison Lyric)

The sound of wooden rake scratching concrete. walk nearer - rustle of dry leaves. This, the beginning of a Japanese haiku or maybe a Japanese film - dry sound first, then rake, then leaves, then man - that evokes autumn too near the heart to need a title the sound stops. silence. man leans on rake. then match strikes, there's almost yes an echo from the dry leaves not yet fallen from the trees in the forest all around. then the first tickle in the nostrils of burning leaves which the two-year old scrunching through the trees hand in hand with older sister will remember all his life like the silence between two lines of a haiku or the silence of the moment when the seasons turn. and who can say what the golden-orange-yellow-brown trees slowly stripping in a rustle as of silken nightgown to the tune of, more a whisper than a breeze - what the trees feel as the incense of their, their, burning leaves steals like a last caress for each such faithful lover?