I felt frigid chills as she drew
My eyes to the angst-ridden scene.
The air was not cold, but the warmth
Had escaped this chaotic mess.
Unkempt undergrowth dashed by the entangled
Branches of poor-postured trees.
In greenless grey, this bleak wilderness
Whispered the approaching bitterness
Had we come a few days sooner
There would have been vibrance
And delight in fall’s rich texture.
But she sensed a beauty that begged us to linger.
It was the grim desolation that pleads another garment -
This one of white so white no bleach could compete.
And we knelt to the grace that
Brought order to our disarray.