Ava Wahl

This was the year I learned,

The maple leaves in all their splendor, drifting softly to the forest floor

The branches’ arc against the purple-hued horizon

The wind’s watchful, wistful trail across the brisk morning air, caressing worn, ragged limbs,

Still elegant but beaten through time

This was the year I learned

All that grows and thrives,

And dies,

Is a golden art too beautiful to be left behind

The trees provide the very air we breathe,

Which without we wouldn’t be much of anything at all

Imagine an earth turned gray, smoke scarring sky in a thick blaze,

The beating hearts of nature gone still, extinguished, pulled from their roots

Imagine this, and think: how lucky we are to be blessed by the autumn’s soft song, an echo Which may soon fade

If we let it