She calls me each year when the twilight comes earlier: "Go in, go within."
I follow her because she knows the way,
past the summer flowers, putting out the last of their bounty, one last spurt;
past the empty clay pots;
treading upon the gold and tangerine leaves, still moist from the earth;
and finally arriving at the place of quiet whispers.
I can feel the abundance, the ruby red, and her bittersweet promises about letting go and moving on
to be fertile in a quieter way.
Poem and color photograph © copyright Anitra Redlefsen, 2003