The Wissahickon Valley in Philadelphia’s northwest corridor has inspired creatives for centuries. Following are a few gifts–in the form of words and images–bestowed to me by the wild and wonderful Wissahickon.
Contemplate the perfection of a single falling leaf:
like a simple, solitary sage who’s reached his expiration.
The time comes to let go,
to free fall–spin round and round–
drawing circles from sky to ground,
landing atop carpets of brown, orange, magenta.
Time’s passage weathers one to a dry, crunchy thing,
crumbles to dust, soil
nourishment for future generations.
p.s. If you liked this post, you may also enjoy “Life’s Offerings.”