Releasing a brown canopy
Leaving bare stems pointing
To a dark sky.
We do not come easily as the forest to such a time
Putting down, letting be,
And dying to what has been
So what may be will come in its time
Which is not yet.
To what has been
And is no longer.
Spin out in endless “what if”…
We had only done it differently
Worked at it more
Been better people
Made better decisions
As if this emptying were our fault somehow
That we could and should have prevented it all.
No, we are not at peace.
Do not want it this way.
All that has changed
The deaths and loss we see and bear
The futility of fixing or escaping any of it.
The forest does not suffer as we do.
It did not fail at keeping summer.
The earth rotates,
The axis tilts,
The forest releases into its emptying
That must come before all filling.
Truly this emptying
Makes room for everything
That yes, will come,
In its good season.