The wind caresses each tree,
Cool and calculated, each leaf a shadow of its previous life.
Drifting downward, it’s breath taken, patiently awaiting rebirth,
Autumn’s inevitable demise the path it must follow,
Measured in time and longing for the unknown,
The coming cold dark nights tell the story and the truth
Of life itself.
The woods are brown and the trees they are bare,
Seductive and mysterious, a chill in the air.
The feel of the earth, so crunchy and soft,
I walk them alone, the cool morning frost.
Anticipation awaits us, change we will see,
An eventual white blanket, will coat every tree.
It’s as old as the ages, as sure as the sun,
The coming of winter, another season is done.
Footprints in the snow
Signify new life, new hope
Steady cold winds blow
Darkened days now the norm
Temperamental winds usher in a frosty reality while
Falls grasp, tenuous and slipping,
Tries to remember days lost in an autumnal haze.
Fiery reds are extinguished and relinquish themselves to blades coated in a fine morning dew.
Wasting away, the tears of tomorrow are soaked into the earth with the
Promise of a new day.
Winter
Dark swirling clouds
The slushy cocoon, a blessing
Intense
(Cinquain 2, 4, 6, 8, 2)
Winter approaches
Clouds softly explode at night
Fluffy white goodness
The Zen Hiker 