The Fallenness of Fall

Today for some inexplicable reason,
I feel the weight of being in the face of brutality.
Perhaps it is the brightness of the sun as it peirces through the nearly naked trees.
Fall and fallenness uncovers something,
making the landscape one of loss, of sleep,
stark and skeletal.


I wonder of the wind that howled and hauled them from their higher place.
I relate.

I wonder of the rain it ripped them; the force that stripped them.
I ache.


I wonder of the arboreous agony;
the furious fade and fall;
the feet that kick;
the rake that scraps;
the fog that feigns;
the dew that drenches;
the cold that encases;
the rain the ruins;
the snow that silences;
the decay gives way to growth.


The fallenness of fall whispers to me,
of wounds,
of life,
of loss,
of violence,
of victimhood,
of surrender,
of secrets,
of seasons,
of struggle,
of meaning,
of mourning,
of rot,
of repurpose,
and of repose.

I wonder.
I wait.
I relate.
I ache. 


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