Along the road home.
Nature is our teacher, not always kind and patience. She reminds us how fragile we are. Although the mountain will remain, that which walks upon her is impermanent. She allows us to come, to go, and does no more the release a sigh, the breath of life, the wind of death. The importance we put upon ourselves, our lives, those around us and all that we want to be here; to this, she remains indifferent.
Green leaves blown from branches before turning gold. Rotting of the unripe fruit.
Such untimely deaths. Untimely according to our schedule and plans and programs. To her, perhaps, it is all the same.
She will bloom again next year.
Rolling hills and autumn leaves.