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.