Autumn

Flowers dancing in the afternoon breeze

like the prism rainbows over my house.

Like the rows of sparrows 

on the fences, ready to fly.

Like the migrations of monarchs,

the next methuselah generation,

will travel to a far away tree.

To wait for yet the next generation,

to travel back, riding rising winds.

Like the leaves on the trees.

vivid, rustling like music.

Painting themselves, ever brighter,

until they fall, and browning, die.

Smelling like the living earth,

they nourish life tomorrow.

Like the rain, falling gently,

pouring currents, the fresh living smell,

of promised life and relief, making me happy. 

The lightning, purifying the air, the clouds.

Crisper, cooler, the moon ever brighter.

I will make a thousand fires.

Dancing embers, rising on the heat 

of the fire, the curling smoke.

The embers are like the living,

sparkling stars, only the stars 

are a thousand million times the size.

Clearing, cleaning, dying for living,

living for dying. Getting ready.

Ready to wait for the spring.

Then the monarchs will begin

their long, tiring journey back, 

laying eggs when they return.

So the yet another generation

of restless butterflies...

Can follow the breezes,

their instincts, magnetic pulls.

Magnetic poles, south again.

And yet more leaves paint themselves,

sing, and dancing, fall to lie.

For tomorrow, for spring,

they release their nourishment.