As The Earth Begins to Die

Stones crunch and roll beneath my boots
and the salmon who finished spawning
give up their bodies to the earth
laying like so many offerings on the shore.
The mist that settles in at my collar
collects and makes a sacred trail
down towards my spine.

How can trees that are so wet
look so engulfed in fire
with their leaves change from
alive, to breathtaking, to... dead.

I see the shifty scavenger at my peripherals,
and sense the quiet about the descent
as the earth prepares for sleeping
I prepare for my own descent, of sorts.

Touching the frigid water to my forehead,
I saw a silent prayer of thank you
I fiddle with a stone in my pocket
and remember the richness of colour
in this moment, as the earth begins to die.

© Jess Johnson, 2019, All rights reserved. Please do not reproduce or publish any part of this poem without the author's permission and full credit and link back to this post and website.


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