it is troubling (this grief)

I am troubled
by the rattling
of the liquidambar
outside my window
at work

it is a glorious
spreading
strongly muscled creature
that plays host
to wattle birds
kookaburras
and parrots

silver-eyes and pardalotes

but the leaves . . .

the leaves have been
an autumn magnificence
through all the years
I have know the tree

rich reds
and yellows
and shades of orange

piles of them on the ground
to shush-shush-shush
if someone should walk
through them

.
.
.

it looks
to be in trouble

we are in
mid-summer

the colour of choice
is green

but all the leaves
are curled
or shrivelled
or have fallen

the tree
has lost its season
of glory

fallen premature
into winter

and I am afraid
for it

I wish to turn away
to
not look upon it
anymore

not feel
grief
rising in my throat
but . . .

it is there
and I think
and I feel
each time my glance
passes through
to the other side
of the glass

the tree
is dying

~