The trail leads gently up
and through the stand of trees
The day is chilled by autumnal winds
just in from the coast

I contemplate the desperation of the falling leaves
as they wander about in the bracing air
Carried by the breeze to where they will lie
And I wonder: “Are they bitter?”

Or do they accept their fate
as the annual benediction
of having served their purpose
reflected in the colors of the season?

The countless pigments of decomposition
abound in golden yellows, auburn browns,
and flourishes of crimson

The leaves are no longer needed
to catch the sun from Spring and Summer
I decide they are not cross
at the weight of their circumstances

Hopefully, they can perceive
the better part of the difference
between being resentful,
and acceptance of what will be
along the path we are on