Sometimes the dull, dropped, dark dank, leaves of fall
Lie broken under foot,
Busted like dry bones crackle.
The path through canopy of trees,
The wood’s own trail of life
Seems paved with aged confetti,
Strewn from spring’s gay party on the path.
The leaves the same, the framing changed.
It is both and it is nature’s way,
A cycle of seasons
Under foot and heavenward
And all around.
The woods tell stories, whispered
Stories. Listen and
Be still sweet soul,
In all and know that He is
While you wonder,
While you wander,
And while you still sit
In weathered chair, of life,
Be still sweet one
Joining Deidra for her lovely Sunday Community.