In between the sanctioned colors
of summer’s heat and winter’s chill,
does bound the cast of change embroidered
upon the fabric fall has twilled.
Where greens and yellows, reds and browns’
soft rustling turns to chatter’s drown.
Grasses stand to sway no more,
but rustle stiff at bank and shore.
The sweet remiss of forest floor
draws mustiness to trail head’s door,
that simply pulls a beckoning,
to walk and feel the closing in
of shadows long and cooling wind,
there nature’s change and reckoning.
It’s these in-betweens I love the most,
twixt winter’s stir and summer’s ghost,
where every moment stretches long
to stand and bathe in sun, till gone…
It is these moments where questions cast,
do burden proof, or hope, at last
to find a holding sacred thought,
and there twixt hope and release wrought
the blood of each tomorrow.
It’s here that nothing stands eternal
throughout the sands of time,
yet hope is felt in golden dipping
leaves of trees, like teardrops dripping
a silent teardrop’s line,
or shower in yesterday’s sorrow…
If I could, but stand awhile,
I’d hold myself in forest fast,
to watch and reel the burgeoned future
and cling to tears there, of my past.
Like autumn, my heart, between does break,
for moments gone and memories stake
of hopes from yesterday…
Yet still within this autumn wind,
is kept the strength to rise again,
muster courage for winter’s chore,
and hope to stand on spring’s sweet shore…
and there within my lifetime play,
year in, year out, and day by day…