Rocks and trees look the same in a wood of gray.

They share a darkened sky that wraps a fallen day.

Crackles and snaps taint silent air with sound.

Where collages of colors melt into the ground.

~

Then the chilly breeze and the early night,

That awakens all to the same hazy light.

Seasons end when another begins,

Some icy cold with freezing winds.

~

Some blooming buds and misty showers,

turning tiny seeds into mighty towers.

These longer days we all must grow,

then starlit nights will be aglow.

~

With heat enough to turn green red.

Then yellows float to golden bed.

To share their dreams in patchwork mind,

of sunny times with shade that’s kind.

~

 To rest among where fallen lay,

and ponder together this wood of gray.

~*~

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