A thought on Autumn

Autumn

Isn’t dreary, autumn isn’t a maid grown old.

Autumn is a maid stripped bare.

By rain, by wind, by human hand.

Undressed.

Left to live with  bare essentials.

Only thus, she shall come to know the bare essence of things.

And waiting for new times she will praise these.

What she’s waiting for is already on its way.

And it’s all white.