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.



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