We loved the beauty of autumn leaves
holding on and falling.
You held on, vibrant in your autumn,
inspiring, in that calm before the fall,
until a sudden drop.
We crunched through leaves, but now your crunch has ceased,
wrinkled, dry and now empty of life.
Once you strode this path with zest, knew the way.
These same brown copper trees watched you walk,
stout booted, a red rucsac rambling guide,
long before me.
A ray of sun sneaks through beech branches.
‘Late leaf fall this year’, but no more chatting.
Fresh buds promise me new growth, next spring
but not for us. Now I know we’ve walked
our last crunching way
along this bronze ribbon,
snaking through the woods