Only In The Sun

October. .
The leaves are falling
with all the aplomb of a perfect autumn.
Bright reds, yellows, oranges,
a patchwork quilt of a season come to end.

The last of the wildflowers cling to life,
a few, those under the protective limbs,
have resisted the frost, their color a balm
to your melancholy soul,

There is a temptation to withdraw
that is always with you.
It is where you heal and hide
and from time to time you need it,
the aloneness of winter.

But not for long.
Wait too long and the protective limbs
shed their leaves, and winter finds you
unprepared.

So just for today, you will breathe your darkness
into the world. You will empty yourself,
remembering the one lesson that matters,
the persistent survive,
but color lives only
in the sun.

About this poem

I am not sure this one makes sense to anyone but me. It goes that way sometimes.

Tom