A Quiet Friday Afternoon: A Poem

On a quiet Friday afternoon,
I remember Oklahoma
and contemplate
the beauty of autumn.

On a quiet Friday afternoon,
I remember the cottonwood tree
in my Grandparents' front yard
and smile wonder
if it has any descendents
with their leaves turning yellow.

On a quiet Friday afternoon,
I wonder if the leave are changing
in Oklahoma
and falling to the ground
waiting for someone to rake them
into piles so children
can jump into them
and scatter them again.