mist caresses the pond’s surface, tendrils tentatively waking the edges. the sun’s first rays touch the cattails, setting them aglow like cotton candles. i play a dragon game with my breath, and frost, like an old friend, gives one last glory to fallen leaves. furled and brittle, they sparkle crystalline, veins spreading in networks of ice. stress stiffens tendons as the day stretches ahead. but the rising sun melts us a bit until we wobble forwards into responsibility. before my eyes the earth breathes its first breath, and i stretch and yawn.
elms, ash and oak release their leaves from tired arms to settle in umber drifts against the old rock wall, piling aimlessly across velvety moss or within the empty ribcage of a fallen oak. lifeless, they dream of days past when, blown by the merry wind, they murmured together. so must each honor be forgotten in order to grow again more beautifully. this time of year is filled with impermanence. oppositely branching maples fan fractal like, reaching for one another across the sky. some crossroads are more important than others... occurring early on, they establish stability. like the trunk, these first decisions are crucial, directing later patterns; towards the end, slight variations cause less of an effect. yet noon is no time to give up! with morning’s experience, much can be accomplished.