The valley wakes under a duvet of mist. The nights are cooler once more, the air rich with moisture.
The forests change, day by day. Going to sleep under bright, saturated green, where light seems to outlast the days, one wakes to an easing of foliage, a slow shedding summer’s glory and we accept a new wisdom, a ripening, a glimpse of rust, an honesty of branch and twig. All that was once so sure, so bright, soon withdraws from our valleys. The light won’t reach as far into the woods now and dusk stretches her inky arms out, to hold the world closer.
We find a new quiet that has us listen to new voices, softer ones, wiser ones, guiding us into a different world, where the stories are passed in the night, revealing new thoughts and truths, against the dark side of the moon.
The forest’s eyes are opening. It watches our every move as we stumble, light-spoilt, into the underbrush, awkward and humble, until our steps ease into this darker time whose riches we discover, day by day, with the falling of the leaves, until a new bright warmth fills us from within.