Along the path
a spot where water collects
is now a puddle of autumn’s amber leaves.
A few months ago,
as cliff swallows collected material for their nests,
it was place for spring rain, mud, and new life.
Yesterday, as we walked, it was quiet,
nothing competing with the small voice of a chickadee in a nearby tree,
while along the path,
the leaves, in gentle release, drifted down like soft snow
and the sun struggled to warm us,
as it danced between the clouds.
Today, into the wind, I lowered my head and grabbed the brim of my hat,
as leaves in wild flight,
having lost the battle,
were torn from almost bare branches.
the journey continues
and with it
the wonder of change.