The scattering of trees that have lost their leaves
become wisps of angular curiosities
surrounded by a punctuated color palette
of thin, drop-shaped crumbles – orange, brown, and red, and yellow.
On the trails, we observe transitions developing
as we gather together for warmth,
and watch our breath rising,
wondering if plants foresee future weather’s charms.
The wind no longer rustles when it passes through some trees,
but bends around bare branches in a smooth-sounding breeze,
as we wait for the first dusting to render the world white.
We may long for remaining light,
asking if we must walk quietly into the fading forest-
wondering,
though the glow of autumn
ushers in its own kind of brightness.
Through story and shared memory
we can dance through a carnival of seasons,
mark the passing cycle of sun-filled days
like a perennial ceremony,
raising our voice before the living music’s
decrescendo into silence-
the energies that remain from longer days
are turning to dream.
