An image caught quickly (online) that excites for what it isn't: a farmhouse on fire. I look at the title and find it to be otherwise -- Autumn Near Beaupré. Autumn where once there were flames, smoke as the trees on the hill in behind.
For the rooted, autumn is a change of clothes, a donning of sunset colours; the fallen, the detachment of that which is of a different intelligence -- to leave, curl up, rot ...
A burn, this rot. (Auburn?) Though faster, with a higher degree of carbon. Material breaks down, sinks into the earth, a fertilization of what's to come -- the conditions for its coming.
"A seed eats it," I told my niece when she was young "-- that's how." My lying to connect two things so that she could understand the system -- and when she's a couple years older, replace the verbs accordingly.
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