Autumn Unraveled

Leaves turn copper in the asking light, each one a question the wind must answer. The trees let go without a sound.

We stand beneath this gradual release, watching color become permission, the branches learning to say no.

Everything that falls reminds us: holding on is just a temporary shape, a fist that learns, eventually, to open.

The ground accepts what comes, doesn't judge the fading, only knows that underneath it all, roots wait in darkness, patient.