so still the rising morning
as I gaze into the glorious green;
an orb of warmth climbs the horizon,
a day unfolding in its own shapeless way.
the whisper of autumn is in the wind;
it speaks of bright colour.
by noon the world will hum
into shades of flame
and by dusk
all will be baked brown.
leaves will tumble to the earth
and decay;
senseless to the white water
that weighs upon them
until morning springs.
an endless cycle
of growth, decline and fall.
