Newly fallen colors
drift to cover
fading predecessors,
layer after layer,
various configurations,
some cupped,
holding rainwater,
creating tiny windows
to the sky.

Bright sassafras
and maples mix,
soon to fade,
decompose,
provide nourishment
to roots from soil
instead of sun.

Aware of
seasons, cycles,
letting go
to allow for
new growth,
to allow for
understandings
to develop, overlap,
drift away, blend
and turn and return,

Yet I almost never
remember I once
learned to trust
release and renewal,
death and resurrection,
and I cling,
white-knuckled
and exhausted,
forgetting this is how
room is made for
something new.