It’s autumn now:
The trees are blooming onto death,
The crops are fully grown,
Some of the fields are already empty.
We’ve planted our seeds,
The luckiest ones also watched them grow;
The harvest is plentiful.
The trees are blooming onto death though-
They bear no fruit,
They shed their leaves for winter.
Autumn makes death look so beautiful!
Is that true?
Or is it the letting go that’s golden?
Golden, copper leaves,
I wish that I could paint these trees.
But I cannot.
I’ll watch them instead as I harvest the field.
We’ve had so much sun this summer,
So much so that the ground missed the rain.
I love the sun!
I wish it could come back in winter.
Maybe it will, maybe I’ll call that apricity.
I will name the miracle;
I will love the sun;
When it’s out again,
I will plant my seeds
And wait again for harvest-
Wait again for autumn-
Wait again for death and letting go-
To remind me how beautiful the light is.
I will love the seeds as much as I love the harvest.
I will love the harvest no less than the seeds,
And with every sunset, I will watch the leaves
Fall into the ground and become seeds,
Then plants and fruit and trees.
I will love the harvest of the trees that is autumn,
And perhaps this will lead me into spring-
Where days are long and fields are green
And nobody worries yet about the harvest.
Yet, tomorrow I will wake and harvest my small garden.
It’s late autumn now:
I should have harvested before,
But I love too much to watch things grow;
So I will wait another day,
I will not worry about the way
My plants decide to grow;
I will not use them-
Not put them into a metaphor-
But simply watch them grow.
It’s the end of autumn now:
Winter is coming,
Blooming with perspective
And giving birth to spring.
I still watch the trees,
I still love the sunset,
But I’m resting from the harvest.