One poet calls it "unleaving"
and uses Fall and Trees.
Some give us hills to roll down,
some rivers, some skies to blunder through,
some crazy cliffs to plummet from.
Some get it said (Thank God!) in merely lines,
others in five act plays
(for some of which, thank God still more).
Many leave us dead.
Others allow the possibility,
not of turning back,
but finding another way, ascending.
Hamlets or leaves,
fall is what we do best.
And so the poets,
writing of us,
must write of it.
Image links to its source
"Gathering Brushwood" David Bates (1840-1921): Wiki Commons - public domain