Rite of Passage

Leaves are everywhere
my floor
littered with brief
colorful crispness
they swirl in on the draft
off a pant leg or stick
to the bottom of a boot
I haven’t the heart to sweep them up.
throughout the house
evidence of what was
is now
and will soon
become dross.

the hussy of seasons
a brazen woman ablaze in color
once young
overnight aged and drooping.
I love her for going out
with head held high
proud and unashamed for what
she’s lost.

She makes way for rest
and rejuvenation
a younger version of herself
to grow and become one and the same
faded and barren
in time
and loved
for her beauty.



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