Autumn Remembers

This cool breath; foreboding death...
This was the sign I had remembered
sitting riveted to the event at hand.
The nearly barren stalks, bearing their fruits
For the consumption of us who wait.
Does the tree remember them?
Is it always so with parents, to cast aside
Their fruit to our devices?
Does the tree remember the spring of it's youth and
Vitality?
Does it remember the romance played out
With the sun beaming so true
So warm?
Each leaf; once full, lush and productive
In the mating dance, now shedding
away; lifeless and final
Like the tears from the little boy's eyes.

"Nothing lasts forever," he hears his father, standing
gazing upon him.
The smoke in the air from chimneys, burning logs
From brother trees, aged and seasoned
In piles awaiting consumption:
Do they remember them?
Do they remember them; erect and precise
In duties of protection, nurturing and now
Fuel?
Who remembers the smell in the air;
Fecund with decaying leaves, aromatic of
The earth and
Summer vacations fling?
So crisp, and final; this escape
From life and living?

"Ho! son, do not dwell on these
events." His father says again,
Sharpening the knife as he prepares.
Who then remembers, father?
Who remembers the gifts this tree gives
Before it's dead?
Who will carry this memory of them
A burdensome placard of
Life into death?

"The truth, son, is painful to know."
his father cuts into the branches,
liberating walnuts from their nests.
"We honor this tree in taking nourishment
In seeing it's value to us, to care for us.
The tree does not die, son.
It is playing the role it is given."
Wiping snot onto my sleeve, the cold air
hastens me to gather up
The nuts
Tho not clear how it will be remembered,
But autumn never forgets.