When Trees Go Streaking

The Nudie Ranch for deciduous trees
opened for business this morning.
The sun blushed the sky rosy
as it watched each birch and maple
scatter their skivvies in red and
yellow scraps along the sidewalk.

As I shuffled,
I thought it funny that
romantic poets,
enthralled by holy buds and
blossoms on the altar of
vernal equinox,
chose spring as their fertile goddess.

They should have picked fall.

All that blooms come springtime
is bred from the
wild oats sown in
the autumnal heyday.

It's the season Nature decides
to stop wasting her time
with all that photosynthetic nonsense,
and gets down to the very serious business
of dropping drawers,
ensuring that spring will come again.