Leaves

Leaves

The prisoners of infinite choice
Have built their house
In a field below the wood
And are at peace.

It is autumn, and dead leaves
On their way to the river
Scratch like birds at the windows
Or tick on the road.

Somewhere there is an afterlife
Of dead leaves,
A stadium filled with an infinite
Rustling and sighing.

Somewhere in the heaven
Of lost futures
The lives we might have led
Have found their own fulfilment.

~ by Derek Mahon

I was hunting around for a poem about parting and farewells, since I had a major one this morning. When I came across "Leaves," I thought, this has nothing to do with what I felt at the airport today, but it occured to me that selecting a too-apt poem might be overly sentimental, so I went with my instincts and typed out Irish poet Derek Mahon's "Leaves." Every once in a while, my thoughts turn to those "lost futures." Always good for a story or an essay; always good for remembering the wonderful things in the one "future" that did come to pass.

To my mother: Thank you for being with me these past six weeks. What a joy to be a child again! Milou misses you already. We both do.

Posted by Monoceros at November 10, 2004 8:38 PM