Gone the red, the orange, the gold.
In its place the browns, the blacks, even mold.
But still there's beauty to behold.
The shapes, the contrast, the muted tone.
And in a season yet untold.
Fresh growth will spring, to succeed the old.
It is easy to believe that what is today, is what will always be. But life moves in cycles. What seems like reality is only a passing phase. What fades will soon be restored.