The metamorphoses of early autumn and late spring

are one and the same.

The kiss of the frigid breeze blessing you,

The crisp water slithering down the stream,

The bright jeweled moss with spores and seeds grown from slim stems

Infused, rooted into the rocks, yet so easy to remove,

Soft as silk, luxuriant, thick, like nature’s pillow.

The changes remind me of the beautiful days to come,

And the ones that have come to pass.

The sound of rustling leaves,

In autumn soon to change color and fall,

In spring only just emerged,

Scatter across the forested hills.

The arriving and leaving birds,

Wrens, Swallows,

Flippantly sing without worry and

Fill the air with piercing and cheerful melodies

Which slip

Through the rustling branches and emerald leaves

Through the slithering stream and soft moss

to my

Listening

Ears.