A.H. Browning

This Fleeting Day

The sunlight paints

the scattering of fallen

and resting leaves

Bearing colors I cannot name

that effortlessly change

so dreamily, mysteriously

As a soft and innocent wind

caresses

the enduring branches above me

who regard me silently 

And nature’s display haunts

yet it cares not

of my understanding

Though suddenly

wonderfully 

my heart stills itself

as I contemplate

my state of being

Am I awake

or

am I merely dreaming

Am I hoping

or

am I truly seeing

For the first time

the things my heart

does not know how to say

The utter beauty

of this fleeting day