early autumn in the woods

early autumn.

the evenings are chill.

the days are often rainy and cool.

the leaves are turning

and the winds have caused

many of them

to fall.

so if you'd like

you can come with me

for an early morning walk in the woods

after an evening's rain.

~

come past the guardian trees.

rub your open palms against their trunks as you pass.

you'll feel a cool wetness

and the slight fuzziness of moss

before you sense the ridged roughness of their bark.

let's follow this little path . . .

before it dwindles into this slightly overgrown trail . . .

and opens out into the place where the big trees grow.

look way up at the brave little orange and red semaphors . . .

look down at their still beautiful brothers and sisters . . .

and before you leave the woods,

you'll see

a single red leaf

at eye-level.

held

in slender wooden fingers.

what does it say?

it tells the story

of a day early in spring

when the snow was still on the ground

tucked into little eaves

and gulleys.

a day when the sun

rose high enough to warm the tree

which felt the message -

a warm, loving message -

make buds . . .

and this bud unfurled over the next few weeks

into a beautifully formed

sun-dappled

wind-dancing

life-giving leaf

that only a few days ago

felt the chill winds

of autumn's

insistent tugging

more keenly

than before

and let go.

its journey

to the forest floor

was halted

by these tiny wooden fingers

that in an improbable act

of synchronicity

were reaching out at the precise moment

and in the precise space

that the leaf was passing through

as it drifted earthwards.

and so

they remain . . .

containing that one

improbable moment

in this beautiful

woodland embrace.