The seasons change, and you can if you want to, too.


Tugging together 

The collars of my

Jacket round my

Shoulders, I prayed:

God, let Autumn 

Teach me. 

Let the past 

Burn orange

Until it falls

Into piles

Grounded

Around me;

Fill my bones

With courage

To shed my 

Peeling bark;

Blow away

Whisps of hair,

Things I don’t need

Clinging loosely

To my frame,

Like pedals

Shriveled into 

Chalky dust.

It all grows back: 
The hair, 

The leaves, 

The good, 

The hope,

The trust, 

The loneliness 

Pushing us 

To search out 

Into the void.

It all takes a deep 

Breath when the 

Spring 

Comes back.

And spring always
Comes back.

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