We Turn Our Somber Faces Toward The Sun

Poetry
Photo by author

In late September golden rays of sun
are warm against my skin; I turn to face
the source. Although my thoughts are somber
I am humbled by the lively beauty of the verdant
lime and emerald leaves. Foliage in the garden
is yet brightened by the glow of nature

in her glory. We are most ourselves in nature,
when we spend afternoons at leisure in the sun.
There is a sense of wonder in the garden–
a deep essential force floats beneath the face
of things, beneath the dark and verdant
soil where the earth is still. I am somber

at the thought of deep earth, as somber
as the thought of death, which is a part of nature.
As absolutely as the grass and trees are verdant
signs of life, so are the dying rays of sun
that any one of us may feel as we face
the twilight hours winding through a garden

that once held golden light. And if life is a garden,
the silent leaves and flowers, somber
in their quiet contemplation of the face
of things, see the many changes nature
in her cycle brings. They recognize the passing
patterns of the sun and come to love the verdant

moments that arrive! The bee is verdant
in its passion for the flower, as is the garden,
and in between the dappled leaves and sun
drenched petals, curled vines climb the somber
trunks of trees, and thrushes sigh. The nature
of all things is to die, and yet to face

this truth is strange, for every flower’s face–
now full of color, shining bright and verdant
in all the blazing fullness of its nature,
growing in the wild reaches of the garden–
will someday fade and wither to a shade so somber
one may wonder if it ever saw the sun.

We see ourselves in nature, and our vision is the face
of every flower shining in the sun. Our life is the verdant
renewing garden. Beneath us, the earth is still and somber.