Beech leaves barrel and tumble from a blue sky

Not blustered from branches on this calm day

Not shaken by squirrel or pounded by rain

Only the sheer weight of sunshine

and the implacable impulse of their true nature


They fall each in their own way



The truth of their descent is the chaos of their own dynamic

Gravity carving through stiff air

They fall

to Earth

Glossy dark with frostmelt

Drying and lightening in the winter sun

to the colour of old Gnomes

(this is why Gnomes are so rare to see,

even when they stand close enough to touch,

if they would)


I stand and watch the beech leaves,

and the oak, more like to swoop, less to tumble

still they fall

true to their nature


I stand and watch as my fingers turn from pink tingle to white ache

Until the wrens return

Stand and watch the last fall


I too am touched by the light

Feel the impulse of my Nature



Time for me to release, to let go

Carve my path of truth

I need no storm to drive me

It is time, and it is my nature.


Good bye to Beech, to Oak

Farewell to Gnomes



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