The Leaves are Making Teshuvah
as chlorophyll fades from their veins
to reveal riotous colors of red.
the leaves are making teshuvah
by letting go of their verdant past.
they drop from branches, float
on eddies of air to the ground.
the leaves are making teshuvah.
they huddle in garden beds,
keep each other warm.
once glorious crowns of canopies,
they feel the earth with pinnated
hands. they blanket our autumn
yards like a great tallit then quiver
like loose-leafed prayers.
they cup cocoons, jeweled galls,
and chrysalids in palmated palms,
become nurseries for butterfly and bee,
tend to the embers of glow worms
that shine like underground stars.
the leaves are making teshuvah,
turning inward, turning down,
their brittled bodies tan into shades
of amber, umber, golden brown.
they forgive the trees. they forgive
the wind. they become the soil
between blades of grass,
between hollowed stems of coneflower,
between the holy and profane,
the leaves are making teshuvah.
bless them.
Sara O’Donnell Adler
September 2025