our sun will set
a Native American prayer I love,
and use in my meditations quite often,
faces the west, sunset,
with life parallel to a day when it’s over,
the sunset often in a blaze of glory and color,
I love that metaphor
better than a slammed door,
a switch turned-off,
a sled gliding to a stop after the hill,
I like the idea of a play that’s run its course,
and the curtain call is celebratory,
the run was good,
and we made a difference,
we get to the mountains in early November,
the trees devastatingly beautiful
they drop the green of the living year
and reveal the yellows and reds,
the gold with them,
that celebrates the audacity and glory
that is who we are,
at least who we can be at our heart,
i love the fall that celebrates the year
and allows those trees of color
to release themselves to joy,
before it’s time to spiral to the ground
and lose individuality as all turn brown
and seek to be reunited with the Earth, now mother.
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