At this
Seldom celebrated season
Take some time to
Have a thought about
Ourself

Each I
Is like

A flower flourishing
In the world’s wide meadow
Fading from fullness
Forsaking its gayful glory
As the life cycle passes summer’s height

A dandelion seed whisked
By the world’s whirling wind
Floating over fields
A tiny few finding fertile soil
As the life current flows to autumn

An oak leaf yellowing
In the world’s fire-hued forest
Falling, detached, to earth
Surrendering to mould
As the life pulse slows to winter

Just so
Can we
Within us
Feel
For real

How each flower bows to
The dulling of its summer shine
How each seed suffers
The loneliness of life in a barren land
How each leaf feels
The drift, down, to decay
To Death

And so we hold the soul-key to
Autumn’s future feast

Michaelmastide

(image by Rory McEven)