The way the trees empty themselves of leaves,
let drop their ponderous fruit,
the way the turtle abandons the sun-warmed log,
the way even the late-blooming aster
succumbs to the power of frost—

this is not a new story.
Still, on this morning, the hollowness
of the season startles, filling
the rooms of your house, filling the world
with impossible light, improbable hope.

And so, what else can you do
but let yourself be broken
and emptied? What else is there
but waiting in the autumn sun?
~Carolyn Locke “What Else?” from The Place We Become

So this is how life goes:

we are sowed, set down roots, bud and grow and flower and bloom and fruit and flourish,

then dry and change and wither and empty and break away
to be carried off beyond this air and water and soil.

We thrive where we are planted,
do what we could with a little nurture,
then transcend the here and now.

So shall we plant the next generation in healthy soil.
May we weed and water and feed as needed.
May we never seek to overshadow the sun
but step aside so its light fully shines on whoever comes next.