Here we are in the last days of Autumn for 2024. They say history repeats itself. And it occurred to me, this morning, how often that’s so true.
50 years ago I experienced the last days of Autumn just up the road.
Right here in the “flatland,” the heart of the heartland. Also known as Kansas. Yeah, I was in Manhattan back then. I’ve cross-crossed the country and lived 30 years in Colorado since then. But here I am. Back in Kansasland.
People seem to enjoy dissing Kansas as being “so flat.” But, when they do, I just smile to myself. Because I remember struggling to ride my Western Flyer up those steep hills, under the hot summer sun, on my way to the swimming pool.
And I also smile to myself as I recall my long drives through the hilly countryside with my trusty spiral notebook and Bic pen by my side. And I remember finding a spot on the bank of a small river where I wrote about the trees sitting high above the water on the other side.
As the breeze whisked through their few remaining colorful leaves, during those last days of Autumn, the sound reminded me of applause. And I wrote a poem called “An Audience of Trees.”
Kansas is filled with memories, for me. It helped code a lot of my emotional and imagination DNA. And, across its highways, byways, and backroads you’ll see lots of Christian and pro life billboards. But most people certainly don’t wanna be reminded of all those innocent children who never saw any hills or trees during the last days of Autumn.
So, they focus on the flats. And they miss many little masterpieces.
An Audience of Trees
I sat before an audience of trees,
The wind, blowing through the leaves,
Became an applause.
Why were they clapping?
Surely not for me.
I was merely sitting there writing about them.
Maybe they enjoyed the attention.
These trees were attired in Autumn fashions.
And some were even dressing for the winter.
It’s really odd, though…
A tree thinks its stylish to be naked through the freeze.
Thank goodness I’ll never be that daring.
My stage for the multitude
Was a semi-dried embankment of dirt.
I’m not proud.
I’m also not an attraction, only attracted.
I’ve been alone before,
But never knowing such peace
As when I sat before that audience of trees.
© 1974 Tony Funderburk
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