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Light in leaves in wind in sky.
Bright October brings beauty
to dead things
and the wingless learn
to fly.
Berries try to stash the summer
in their skin.
Squirrels bury food
and future forests.
Flowers fall back into all
the abundance that birthed
them and decay
paves the way for life
upon life.
When our dreams fall
we might recall
that forests are fed
by the fallen.
What we call death is only
the birth
of bodies and dreams
without boundaries.
What we call death is only
the discovery
that we belong
to the beauty
that burns in all beings.
Posted by kind permission of the poet.
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