What life does, is this

While driving outskirt of town
to check on a friend in distress,
I saw in rearview mirror a patrol car,
lights flashing, follows me.
pulled over, wondering what I did wrong.

Show me the license, ma'am, he said.
I did.
You did over speed, he said. Where were
you going? 
To a friend of mine grieving for her
parents who died in recent hurricane.

I'm sorry, he went on, but you are fined
a hundred dollar or more. 
I winced. 
Considering your clean record, I'll just 
give you a warning. Next time, you must pay.
I thanked him.

Continuing on my way, I was surprised 
by the trees in oranges, gold and red,
in just a week; they changed from a few tints
of the end of summer to the deep autumn,
full display of the beauty of the season.

The small luck of the day and the warning of the officer;
the retirees who quickly vanished from the golden age;
like October trees signaling for the inevitable winter;
winter, the time of respite and restoration for spring;

this is what life does; teacher of how all that can be better 
with some flashlight, like the warning of the cop. 

(c) Byung A. Fallgren