I sat outside under Autumn trees

waiting for starshine
under a night sky so young
it still wore periwinkles and
raspberry pinks.
I lit wadded newspapers and began
building a little teepee
with the sweet smelling kindling
my sons had chopped earlier.By the time the fire was
glowing and warm,
the stars had begun to shine through
the canopy of leaves
and the night sky
turned a deep shade of sincerity.

I watched tree branches softly rising and falling
like sleeping giants
as the fire burned below them
and wondered what they dream
as their leaves,
whose days are waning,
flutter above the flames.

Do they long to pull them closer and hold them near a little longer
and dread the letting go?
Or do they already sense
the beauty of this dance with seasons
and relax about the falling
because they somehow know
that their living dreams will survive
even through the barren time to come
and, through no effort of their own,
return with sweet surging comfort
and thrive.

Like friendly ents
groaning under the weight of their wisdom,
they seem deeply at peace
in their willing release
of the leaves tumbling down around me
and so I lean the whole of me
into the heart of Love
and yield up my tremblings,
too.