Autumn comes with a little woven basket
for gathering, harvesting.
She looks at the garden, and you.
A time of plucking,
of saying “Good enough.”
Greater dreams go to the compost pile.
Laying out the fruits, admiring,
thanking, forgiving, noticing
what thrived or didn’t.
textures grow small, grasslike.
What is fragile looks boldest in its dying.
Shadows come out of their hiding.
Chill knocks, and enters.
A time of cherishing, and laying to rest.
Held by a deeper turning, remembering
the seeds we save.
In every space now a grave silence opens,
and singing, grateful,
balanced on this moment.
On the first day of spring
this is what you remember.
Letting go, you dive in.
September 22, 2021