Walking, I hear the soft rustle of leaves beneath my feet
feel my feet sink slightly into the moist earth,
feel the tickle of wind against my cheek,
feel my hair rearranging itself to the breeze
see the blazing color of autumn's peak,
hear the sounds of animals readying themselves
for winter which is tuning its strings.
I think of nature's permanence:
we make a mark on this earth but for a moment.
Our tracks cover themselves as soon as they are made.
The leaves recover quickly from our trampling.
Our presence destroyed, we walk away