by Fleur Chetwynd
Teetering fingers gently leafing through the forest floor,
eyes caught in a daze begging for more.
Softly goes it so as not to break,
the newly fallen leaves
or silent winds the day does make.
Earthly October offerings spread beneath my feet,
trees bow to their maker,
life forces meet.
Old garments shed in surrendering ways,
Earth slips them on for warmth
against the coming winter days.
I silently smile at Earths cunning wit,
to preserve herself and those she sees fit.
If only we could take a leaf from her book
and not steal from our orchards like a senseless crook.
Harmony fades as we forget such roots
and trample ourselves in leather iron boots.
In a maternal rage the Earth grows fangs,
groaning under the weight as each footstep bangs.
When will we hear her silent cries?
I fear it wont be until the last tree dies.
Til arctic winters and Saturn summers dawn,
will we awaken and harmony mourn.
Yet that cunning wit will never fade,
hopes bulb will flower despite the winters that bade.
Like an autumnal shedding that we witness each year,
we shall become the fauna that she needs to clear.
Our pedestal broken, only then shall we see,
......that we are merely a leaf on her tree.
This is probably one of the most organic poems I have ever written. I was 21 years old, sitting in the woods one autumn meditating and suddenly all the words flowed out of me. No matter where I am at in my process this poem always touches the space I was in that day, surrendering me to the process of change, rendering 'ME' insignificant...truely liberating.