the wind has begun to whisper
the opening notes
of autumn’s hymn –
the stale summer green
giving way to a fervent
red that burns
with such reckless ferocity.
ignited in beauty kindled
with haste –
infinitely enchanting
in all of its
impassioned impermanence.
falling leaves bask
in the beauty of
letting go,
trusting in the wind to
blow them right where
they need to be –
bare branches extend
a perhaps hand;
open to the
precarious breeze of
novel possibility.
the trees don’t fear
to fall
as our ignorant minds
are apt to do –
for they never learned
a reason to mistrust
their roots.