I was deer hunting once, and instead of watching for deer, I was watching the trees and the leaves as they would blow off the branches and flutter to the ground. The result is the poem below. Somehow, the words have more meaning now that I am a little further down the road.
Brittle Autumn Bones
His last strength holds on.
The wind and rain
Have battered and bruised.
And tormented the withered being
He rattles as he moves
His brittle bones creak and groan
As he sways with wind and age
And never moves a step
Oh the memories of youth!
When wind and rain caused naught
But gentle sway and light rustle
Of youth and inexperience.
His strength fails at last.
Letting go, round and round
He circles, back to earth,
To find his final resting place.
Whether the cliffs, valleys and waterfalls of the rugged mountains, or the simplicity perfection of the passion flower below, each detail seems to be planned with immaculate perfection.
or the rugged beauty of the winter in the mountains are equally adept at taking one's breath away.
While the creations of mankind may be interesting and inspiring, they cannot compare with the simplicty yet complexity of nature.
Brothers bonding in a shared laugh
