Listen to the crowning leaves Their glory days proceed with ease, The wind gives to them a voice. They shout, with shaking leaves, rejoice. First time snow has run away Autumn has another day.
Leaves of gold shimmering shine Their dying days a heaven shrine They do not weep as down they fall They lay their royal carpet for all And all can play in piles of gold Rich or poor, young or old.
Soon their gold will turn to brown But in their cries there is no frown It’s well known they’ve earned their rest A golden crown marks them as blessed The first time snow has come and gone So autumn sings us one last song.
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It once roared loudly With an abandon that belied the ordinary mouthpiece It once shone with brilliance And heat That even the blind couldn’t doubt It poured torrential waters across thirsty furrows To quench loneliness’s deep thirst
Time has changed its face Its roar is now a purr sounded in quiet corners Its light has deepened To a soft amber that heats as slow fed coals Its waters have slipped deep Locked within rich earth carpeted with green
It is a love that lingers into the beyond dreams Infusing every breath with trust Each morning with assurance Even tears with hope As fingers curl around each other Locked in companionship And gray hairs sprout to sparkle against tired temples It is a love that lives
Out of the sustaining cycles of life, the water cycle is one of my favorites to think about.
Every drop in the ocean would once have been rain that every flip of a fin stirs, and every current shares with the whole earth.
The beauty of our word is memorizing.
I see intent and intricate planning in its design. This belief doesn’t make me afraid of science, as some people think of those who are religious. No, it lends me a joy as I contemplate the puzzle pieces.
But I am also a dreamer, not a scientist. Still, the thought of ‘what if’ pulls at my heart, maybe close to the same way as it would for my calculating brothers and sisters?
Hands outstretched Confession on quivering lips “I broke it.” Be it cup or figurine knocked upon the ground By careless elbows Compassion leaks from love itself Dripping into cracks as Helping hands hold the pieces together Waiting
Release is gradual Will it hold? Is it strong? In the cup of gentleness When it’s ready “It’s okay. We fixed it.” A young soul learns forgiveness And trust When asked to place the treasure Back home
There is a beauty like no other when it rains, each drop its own little world until it touches down.
What must it be like to be separate as you fall to be broken apart across pavement? Never ceasing to be what you are, but to have your world change so drastically as you slide down hill, finding a crack and joining the soil. Remaining what you are, but also changing.
What must it be like to touch down upon the sea and join an uncountable multitude of life? Something with sound and molecules invisible and unheard by the human world?
That fall, that union, vital to our existence. Without it? We wither.
Each single drop, so important. But alone, never enough.
Only embracing togetherness of different kinds does water nourish life.