Leaves falling,
Withered to dusty ground;
Trees barren and cold in Winter's fury,
Stripped of life,
Waiting to begin again with the dawn of Spring.
Tired eyes, nestled in the bosom of Mother Earh,
Watch a perennial genesis from behind soil's curtain.
Not death, but birth, times over again.
Gaea shedding her superficial skin,
Change...from love to lover.
Stripped nude, unveiled in her splendor,
Naked and brave and smooth,
Carressed by the wind;
Blanketed to be, she stands taller
And brighter than any other season.
Not the Fall, but fall of old.
The old, tired skin wearied from the heat of her king's glory,
Allowed to breathe and be breathed,
Cleanse and be cleansed.
Colors crunch beneath bare feet and rubber soles,
Echoing not finale but sacrifice, conception.
Earth's tears wash away the dust of days,
Her breath blows away man's crime,
Leaving her glowing bright and naked and youthful,
Born once again to start the next of many lives,
She renews;
Forgives and forgets the transgressions of August.
