Wednesday, October 17, 2012

She Is Golden

She is all golden, like the air
that breaks through trees
where the leaves were,
and have more room for sunlight.

She is as wild as the leaves tossed
by the wilder wind
and then just as still
when the winds leave.

She is cool as the morning air
when asked about naptime
but warm as the afternoon breeze
when handing out affections.

My spring-born daughter
is at her half-year in the fall
and becomes more herself
as the leaves lose their lifeblood
and carpet the dead grass.

Her soul is alive in the fall,
and mine is swept along, too.
Grateful for the forces
that make her so, and grateful 
for the beauty of change.

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