Burning Leaves in a Wild Sky

Writing to you at my desk
while watching the field, and being loved by all that I see.

It's the leaves that hug the trunk closely that remain green for the longest time. The outer halo of the tree is exposed to burning frost and blazing sky. Our family tree smolders and quakes in the field.

I returned from my mother's home with more gray frosting my temples. Inside, right above my heart, I feel a fire, burning away illusions. My eyes watch all the mothers and fathers slowly change and fall. Life clings to the last sunny day of the season. A flicker of green remains for moments before becoming something more.

Above the woodland, Vs of geese are wheeling in an invisible roundabout. Then they veer toward an inner glimmering and disappear into the fog. Their wild cries echo on the way toward the wild blazing sun that they know waits for them.

An orange star falls. Yellow suns spin from the branches. Behind the bark, the sap oozes toward the dark center of the earth, chasing spring in slow motion. Liquid light is migrating inward as the rain begins to sweep across the field.

On this, the Day of the Dead, I feel the ones who have gone on before. I recall the fallen and the ones shimmering on the edges. They encircle me, watch me, nourish me. I am them. I am also leaning toward winter, blooming bright for the happy mists of Autumn before I become an ancestor too.

How do I want to live in this mist while blazing?
This one precious day is eternity.
How do I follow the winds that are
blowing in my eyes fluttering and bright?

I am circling the field of my being,
wild, happy and free, spiraling
toward home, circling all that ever was.

May the fire of the forest and
the bounty of the misty field be yours today.

May you rise, for moments,
within the sky that sings for you.

May you be wild and free today.

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Copyright Richard Sievers, 11-2020, All Rights Reserved.