Autumn wind,
blow–
strip the leaves from the trees,
leaves crisp with deep color.
Strip from our soul
the dry and brittle sorrows of the passing year.

Autumn wind,
blow–
fallow the earth,
prepare us for winter's cold and stilling layering
for snow-shrouded stubble.
Bring to our hearts
this welcome time of silent, unseen reparation;
ready us–in figmented death–
for the possibility of rebirth:

in the despair of dormancy
to be aware of our imminent infancy.

Text and image © 2012 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.