Renee Writes

Like the stifled yawn of a spent child,
the first tree begins to color,
an early nod to the turning of time.
The wild things have been busy,
blooming and growing,
stretching in the long heat of the sun,
foraging and finding,
replicating themselves with
joy and abandon.

Now the need for rest
settles in their bones
as the day grows short.

But oh! how hard to stop!
They plead for
one more game,
one more ride,
one more round of riotous laughter.
And so – because even nature can’t resist –
they burst into dizzying colors,
throw whirligig seed pods into the air,
take flight over morning-frosted fields.

Then they sigh and settle themselves into
cozy curls of soft slumber
while Mother Moon takes watch,
finding great pleasure
in the warm, still, steady breath
of the sleeping world,
at peace and rest.