As the wind blows, so fly autumn’s leaves,
flotsam of deciduous trees.
Swirl and eddy, they dance in the air,
a ballet of death sans despair. 
For autumn winter grieves. 

Dormant roots enjoy their reprieve,
await resurrection, the earth to relieve. 
Snow carpets the ground everywhere,
as the wind blows. 

Swept into sculptures by a strong breeze,
avant-garde drifts Nor’easters conceive. 
They sparkle in the sun with bright glare,
beauty that captures us unaware. 
This artistry Nature achieves
as the wind blows. 

M. Zane McClellan

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