The way in which
The blinds on the bathroom window
Adopt the soft pink hue of the rising sun
Makes me think that sometimes
Waking up is not all that bad
Or the way in which the darkness lingers
And the fog still covers the world
At seven in the morning.
The dew is still new and the day still young
As the fire spreads from the east side of the sky
And permeates the air with comforting promise.
The cold starts to slip away,
The leaves change color.
Their beautiful deaths are a martyrdom to the soul
As they paint seasonal lament and timeless regret
With a warm and melancholy hue.
The leaves gently settle on the earth.
Then they fade away, forgotten.
My grief can only be as glamorous as their own.
Today I noticed a couple of lonely ants
Marching up the wet bark of the pine tree
After the rain had finally stopped.
They exist only in obscurity
Yet they go on
Do they know that the end is near?
The words come back to me.