The woods are on fire with autumn.
Each leaf flares bright in the sun,
then waltzes with the winter wind
as it flutters and twirls to it’s earthy grave.
The brief bright firelight
will give way to grey silence
as the wind steals the voice of the trees.
They alone will bear witness
standing in quiet judgement.
They can give no more shelter
in their naked solitude
but they will see all.
I will return to this place of lost innocence
in the bleak years ahead
and the trees will bend to whisper in my ear
We saw, you are real.