Shooting Leaves in Early Autumn
Leaves falling singly or in wind-blown sheets,
I scope their paths with optometric eye,
And calculate the airborne routes they fly
All through a lens, with telephotic feats.
Prepared and aided by technology
I trust that Newton’s laws of gravity
Will force my leaves into an earthward spiral,
To plummet and conform in every trial.
I spot my leaf in distant, solitary fall
And focus all my optic weaponry,
Employing arts of still photography.
But Nature’s arts prove not to be in thrall:
My golden leaf is not a leaf at all,
Whose fluttered flight deceives my sight
And being but a golden butterfly,
Transcends the earth, ascends up toward the sky.
Disappointed and amused,
My plan now all confused,
I pack my gear, perhaps for days,
And learn to love the tricks that Nature plays.