In autumn
the world is friendlier
but still a mystery, Every year
the pulse renews when geese and leaves
take to the wind.

Lost in the fog
of autumn’s early morning,
the world’s a space
of shadows shimmering,
the breeze a whisper
that silvers through the boughs

leaving the trees bare
and even in that bareness
beguiling,
as the ancient
touches new.

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