The last auras of an early autumn
blend into nothing more than a rusted
patina palette. Leaves reduce down
to a skeletal parchment of what was
once vibrant as they fade (as flowers
must also fade and fall away) from
glory to glorious glory. Sometimes
seasons shift out of turn or the story
jackknifes, bobbing upon the edge of
sustaining life and derailing unto death.
Now exposed—in undeniable detail—
are bare, brittle branches that reach
well beyond any healthy extension
will endure indefinitely. For no one
can predict the exact instant tragedy
will transpire, halting time in its steps.
We are conscious in our knowledge
that we are born of the dust and must
return to the dust, just as we are aware
there are no guarantees or bargains that
will buy our way out of living to die.
If to live is to die and to die is to gain,
do these sums encompass life’s meaning?
Awake, sleepwalking soul, to the sound
of your name as it is called to life with
the same purpose those trees break free
this season’s leaves so they may become
the compost feed that fuels next season.
Though some leaves will be released be-
fore they wilt and fade and fall away of
their own accord from the wrath of angry
storms or freak twists and plucks of fate,
they leave in their wake those who must
carry on and fulfill their issue of service
so in due time they too will be the very
sustenance for the path of life to follow.
In loving memory of Jenna and Rachel [22 Oct 2011]. There are no words to explain such loss, only words to comfort the hearts in disbelief. </3