Midas leaves no tree
turned to gold they wait the spring
sages of the woods
It’s autumn again. Midas lingers in the woods touching the green sages in penance.
Looking to the sky, rooted deeply in the earth for ages, I wonder what truth they seek!
If a boon they must ask, it must be to be born a tree again.
To look upon them as pious is how we can revere the noble souls for all that they give us. While fall is all a burst of colors to the worldly eye, there must be more to it. Losing is winning is what trees try to teach us. Every year autumn anoints them in gold perhaps to test their resolve. Politely returned all the wealth surrenders by their feet. The onus now is upon the spring to breathe green into the leaves. And when it does trees are all smiles again!