Leaves

By stevieslaw

Why not write
about it,

she said with that grin.
It was the last

friendly day
of the season

and we sat
on a weathered

log overlooking
the creek

that would
freeze by midweek—

about the time
her Greyhound

would run her
back to the city.

I come here
sometimes

for inspiration,
though I’m more

likely to find
words

on a crosstown
bus.

Here
there is nothing

I need add.
Pure description

is second-hand
news.

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I write because it is fun. A blank page is a challenge. I write and revise and revise. Often I get to say, “where’d that come from.”

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