Re-membering the Dead

Dusk has fallen once again,
and we are in the evening of the year.

In the thinning of the forests, in the lengthening of shadows,

our life is seen as fleeting, our end as drawing near.

Trees no longer set a limit to our vision,

while through bare and nervous branches

our gaze is lifted to the clouds.

The sky seems incredibly higher

and we appear as we truly are,

less than our imaginings, more the creature.

In this season of falling leaves, of coldness and of want,

we think of death.

In this season of harvest,
of gathering into barns or bundles to be burned,

we think of life to come.

                                             --Laurence Brett