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The paths are flooded now,

The forest floor is cluttered:

Broken branches, swathes of damp leaves.

 

Gone is early autumn with its warm sunshine,

Gone is the crunch of crisp leaves,

Now it is wet and grim,

Soon it will be bleak and grim.

 

Don’t frown, sweet one.

It is just the mess of clearing out,

Going back to earth.

Yes the paths you know may be blocked, yes, what of it?

 

(What of it?

I don’t like it, that’s what!

I can’t bear the mess,

I hate the loss, it hurts,

I liked it before, I was happy in summer.

 

Were you?)

 

She is coming.

Cutting in on autumn,

May I have this dance?

They are one for a while,

What havoc they wreak together.

 

Then,

It will calm,

It will clear,

The music, the bluster of their dance will fade.

Stillness.

 

Then we see her silent power,

No leaves left to fall and make a sound.

Peace,

Emptiness,

Beauty.

 

It is not nothing,

It is Life,

Life in winter.

 

Everyday we venture deeper into her world,

Resist her not,

Futile to wish she were different,

To wish it were summer again.

 

Love her for all she is in this moment,

All the mess she has strewn across your street,

The chaos she causes,

Before she wraps us in calm.

 

The calm into which she sucks all life.

Inwards,

She draws it down,

To a tiny light within,

Into the earth,

Until it looks like death.

 

It is not dead,

Winter can not kill Life,

 

She saves it.

 

Appearing as nothing,

It is everything,

All power,

All potential,

Condensed,

Preserved,

Resting in space,

 

Until

 

 

 

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