Do Maples Mourn in Fall?
Do you think the maple mourns
As her daughters blush in crimson, dress in gold
And dance with all their sisters, just to flutter
Softly to the ground, and crumple into duff?
And does the Northland weep
Watching geese and cranes and loons lift off;
They abandon her without a backward glance,
Leave nothing but the echo of their calls?
What impending grief might haunt
The rivers, lakes and estuaries of this land
As swirling light and magic fluid grace
Grow sluggish, rigid, hardened with the cold?
Perhaps the moon, in Hunter splendor,
Yellow-orange, suspended low in early evening,
Reminds the earth that ending is beginning,
And life is birth and death and birth again.
Luna’s winter lullaby reminds the earth to rest
In this pregnant time, while Nature curls within herself,
Holding embryonic life, creating sacred space and time.
She renews our faith. Spring will come again.