In the Blur of Autumn

Green gives way to memory—

a whisper of summer dissolving

in the hush of cooler air.

Red rushes past, a heartbeat

caught mid-breath,

a pulse streaked across the lens

of a restless afternoon.

Orange unfurls like warmth remembered,

not quite fire,

but the promise of it—

embers of what was still clinging to the wind.

Yellow hums softly,

a note of light bending

through the trees’ surrender,

a slow-motion song of letting go.

And then,

white rises—

not snow,

but smoke,

a blur where all colors meet,

becoming thought,

becoming silence,

becoming the breath

between seeing and feeling.