Whirlwind

Whirlwind.

In my walk
From kitchen to bedroom
and back,
The landscape changed. 
The apples,
deep red in the tree outside the window,
The golden, russet and orange
of back yard leaves
Disappeared
in rain and whirlwind.

The crazed water/air hurled itself
across the valley,
Wrenching leaves and apples
from trees,
Driving everything, headlong
against the house,
A viking berserker,
Bruised air,
Bleeding rain,
Heedless,
Pillaging the gold and rubies
of autumn.

This morning,
in the calm air,
Bare branches cling
to a few scraps of gold
like refugees, holding
shreds of past lives,
A torn robe, 
A photograph.

Beneath the trees,
the mud is slippery
with leaves,
Color pounded out of them,
Taken by force.
No golden rustling carpet
Laid gently down
by a loving breeze.
Not this time.