Pretty pink petals
Scatter a path
Through the trees.

Branches reach up,
Grasping at the sky,
Trying to pull themselves up.

The leaves are beginning to turn,
A single leaf dances,
Fighting its fate to fall.

A painter’s brush leaves a trail
Across the dimming sky.
Each colour blending into the next.

A bird chirps,
A river trickles.
Wind rustles,

The chill is biting
But not unwelcome.
It breathes life.

In a calm like this it’s easy to remember  
To breathe in
And out.

And nothing else matters.