I was out with a friend, a dear friend I’ve known for more than 35 years. It was fall. I’m not sure what led us into the autumn woods, figuratively, during our chat. But I mentioned how I love the muted colors of fall, not the jewel tones that others appreciate.
A few months later, she gave me the gift of a poem she’d written – about how my admiration of muted colors may be tied into my dulled spirit since Jonas’s death.
I love this poem.
I love my friend. Thanks Louise.
Colors of the Fall
She holds him, not knowing
it is his last hour.
The next day’s reality,
unthinkable.
Too crushing to withstand.
She breaks.
Grief, centrifugal force,
flattens her body to the bed.
She cannot rise,
nor bear even the moment.
Entire days are night.
Sleepless night.
Color in her world withdraws.
Months passed, I ask.
Have you seen the fall leaves?
They are gloriously vivid.
She responds,
I prefer them just after peak,
when they’ve become quietly muted.
Bold oranges, reds and golds
too bright for eyes and soul
dimmed by the density
of her child’s suicide.
Emotions forever disfigured
bring longing for what was,
yearning to escape what is.
I pray for you, sweet friend,
that one day sunrises prompt joy
and fall leaves, at peak, lose their glare.
Louise Sharer 11/22/2022