An Autumn Letter, Part I.

In autumn comes the death of old - a fallow still, a perfect calm.

It is serene to know that all will change and all will change again.

It is not death, because we resurrect. It is just shedding skin.

And we're laid bare to winter's come - cold, wet, but knowing spring follows.

If only everyone read Emerson

Then we could stand naked beneath the falling locust leaves,

The kissing chill would tickle every spine.