Autumn in the Trees

The screams of the dying trees filter through the bleating chainsaw.
The tone of calves branded...
      The act entwined with fate, Mates the future with past.

This will create heat for future winter,
                                   but in Autumn's fall, celebration is bittersweet
The gift rots if forgotten, the lonely hibernates, the sentinals sleep frozen.

While communities draw inward and ignite sparkling hearth to keep warm by.
There are no shoulds, it's just instinct.
There is no why, we must survive...
            or end up watching fate act upon us like domesticated cattle.
I'd rather a book be that ... or a pond.
The cottonwood weeps in leaves on its lot.
While fern retreats underground to sleep.
The ivy and willow wolf prune their leaves.
Humble flower gardens wilt and melt back into dirt used up and dust,
                                                        Amidst summer's final rose bloom.