A Cycle in the Forest

I’ve known these autumn soils before --

I wade November trails,

nurse the leaves as they turn

from green to gold to mulch.

The hazels undress, wind-bent;

weariness resides in all things.

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I’ve known the changing seasons before,

when the vines of night

grow long and knotted,

and bear only bitter grapes.

The dirt hardens and from it

the harvest’s last breath escapes.

​

Yes, death waits inside of all things;

it’ll devour the oak and aspen.

Come winter’s arrival

the frost-gnawed wildwood

is sleeping; new life is hidden in

the promise of spring.

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!Not a fan of those last couple of lines, but it's been a while since I've posted so I thought I'd share something!!<