Beauty rains down upon me -
It is color, bleeding November.
It is earth trusting me with the quiet
Of a single leaf as it wends
Its way to the ground.
It is incandescent light burning
Through translucent branch tips
Placing bark and trunks of trees
In the deep dark solitude of shadow.
Silence is the language of rainl.
It traverses mammoth fields, shy as fog,
Holding the open secrets I tell to no one.
It has arms to embrace me,
and holds me tight and even calls me by my name
It calls out to me
And it is because of this
I know to whom I belong.
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