She calls me each year when the twilight comes earlier: "Go in, go within."

I follow her because she knows the way,

past the summer flowers, putting out the last of their bounty, one last spurt;

past the empty clay pots;

treading upon the gold and tangerine leaves, still moist from the earth;

and finally arriving at the place of quiet whispers.

I can feel the abundance, the ruby red, and her bittersweet promises about letting go and moving on

to be fertile in a quieter way.

Poem and color photograph © copyright Anitra Redlefsen, 2003