A glimmer: Past peak

In autumn, I see her everywhere. She shames the smooth flush of youth with her grand show. She is beside the cemetery, a fiery crown of red and orange. She holds fast against a gathering storm, glowing gold against dark clouds. She soothes the river with a blanket of silvery yellow.

It is her season, and even the young know it. They are left breathless at every turn in the road when suddenly she appears blazing against a blue sky.

But even they know what I do; that it is a brief season. It pains them, but they manage stay in the wings, to cage their jealous hearts. For it is only a matter of time before the crown of fire falls, leaving her first bald, then naked.

And yet, with roots deep, and bark bare, she waits. Her lifeblood slows, and her brow gathers snow. She communes underground with her sisters, she sends aid to the ailing, and grows wise in the cold. And later, when we realize we can’t live without her, she silently quickens.