The Lies We Tell

The Lies We Tell
She smiled and commented
on the beautiful foliage
as we wound through
the hills of western Jersey.
The landscape, splattered
and spread out before us,
like a discarded artist’s drop cloth.
The once green countryside
had turned to saffron, apricot,
sienna, and apple-red.
I continued to drive, in silence,
as she waited for my agreement.
I couldn’t see beauty as I stared
out at the harbinger of winter:
Soon the kaleidoscope of leaves
would shrivel and be replaced
by legions of brown stickmen;
the rolling hills covered
in a death shroud of white.
She looked over and repeated
“Isn’t it lovely?”
As I turned, I caught my reflection;
I could see it was late summer
and October was approaching.
“Yes, it’s beautiful” I replied.

SMG