You, oh Fall, begin with the grasslands breathing its newness into a golden age of the fields. When you grow, you wisp, when you breathe you see. The grasslands are of tier to the fall, as are you oh Flower in the corner, and are made for a purpose, to flourish and seed for all to understand the place of my upbringing and more. When the grass grows, it turns golden, it turns sun, it suns into golden fields of glory and of being. The Red of you and the making of me become real to its majesty and its being. When I walk alone, I see you, oh lonely stringer, oh alone in its need as the season changes, you change color, as all do, when the time comes, time fades with your bright green image known to transform as the season does.
Photograph by Randie Mayo “Bobbi”
Photograph by Randie Mayo “Bobbi”
You, oh mighty God, know why we exist. We are aware of your creation and know to care of its growing, making, and life. When I draw for the sake of becoming, I draw water from it glory, from its making, from a mountain spring to its need. Until then, oh spring, until then.
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