The Earth is molting
And though today is a day
Marked by putting layers on
Rather than taking them off
Hidden does not mean gone.
She will shed her skins again
She will bloom and rise and blush
Rolling over in crunching leaves,
Turning her face,
And baring her arms to the sun
Giving it permission
To shine on her again.
Her seasons are only moltings
She does not lose herself in them
And watching gives me hope.
She'll reemerge
And I, like her
Will too.