Wind has woken, whispers chill warnings,

shakes green from foliage, from fronds.

Trees turn from her icy temper, turn inward,

let summer leaves fade to yellow, to brown,

blown, starved in favor of future buds,

to cold ground.

A start to the end, an ending

Clears paths to future starts, nests fall

but only dry eggshells recall days of rebirth,

cycling, recycling pasts, futures laid down

with death, decay, after fading away

in wet ground.

A tree tall at peak of life;

autumn can change, tear leaves,

wind can bend and break branches

but roots run deep, gold-crowned

splendidly steadfast, unshakable

in loamy ground.

Nyborg 2016