on an early november day in the woodland forest

i love how the sun so matter of factly screams through the woodland forest,
setting the leaves on fire with gold and yellow hues and tones, and
how tree shadows are painted on the narrow leaf-covered path, carrying
us up the hill and into the pure white sunlight

and just beyond lies the bubbling creek, preparing itself for winter,
once all the leaves have turned brown and fallen to the ground, and
snowflakes dance between the naked branches of the trees, as
thin sheets of ice cover the lazy edges of the creek

and even on this brisk early november day, i can imagine
the forest’s quiet whispers and sighs, as the snow buries the crunchy leaves,
and etches white streaks on the zen-like tree branches, holding their position
until the sun once again sets them free of the clutch of winter