The trees are beginning to shed their leaves,
gold orange red,
exposing the deserted bird's nests.
The light is softer and the mood is mellow.
Foggy mists veil the mornings.
Seeds scatter,
like tiny promises that all is well.
Bring in the pumpkins, the apples;
gather the feijoas fallen on the ground.
Look for the mushrooms in the damp green grass.
Light the candles
as the dark comes early.
This is the time for remembering,
for gathering up the dying times.
This is the time the earth says
ever so softly,
I understand.
I understand your loss.
gold orange red,
exposing the deserted bird's nests.
The light is softer and the mood is mellow.
Foggy mists veil the mornings.
Seeds scatter,
like tiny promises that all is well.
Bring in the pumpkins, the apples;
gather the feijoas fallen on the ground.
Look for the mushrooms in the damp green grass.
Light the candles
as the dark comes early.
This is the time for remembering,
for gathering up the dying times.
This is the time the earth says
ever so softly,
I understand.
I understand your loss.
I saw this great doodle and your lovely words yesterday, Marilyn, and then didn't get around to commenting. Better, I suppose, for now I can wish you a happy Easter, which is just dawning here, knowing you are probably just ending the day there.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful and touching, Joan.
ReplyDeleteIn perfect keeping with yesterday's post. I love the simplicity of 'Light the candles/As the dark comes early.' You've been lighting candles for all of us with your words and pictures.
ReplyDelete