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.