The autumn sun kisses the forest, gently disrobing trees the color of fire
Piece by piece, each leaf dances uniquely and unhurriedly to the earth
Without effort and without clinging, the trees let go of what they no longer need, in harmony with the natural cycle of beginning and ending, one flowing into the other
A single squirrel is busy burying treasure in the carpet of fallen leaves, while the mossrocks practice being both two and one
Sage Burner Poetry 