The Soul of Autumn

I am born autumn,
and begun in gold and crimson—
but it is my friend who teaches me
that beauty is not in the fading,
but in what lingers quietly afterward.

Her kindness arrives like falling leaves—
not loud, but everywhere,
settling softly into the lives of others,
gathering brightness where there was none.

In her presence, I’ve seen the world bloom.
A spark she didn’t keep for herself,
she placed, tenderly, in others—
and they carry it forward,
creating beauty in places
they never thought to look.

What grace it is
to touch someone’s life and leave no trace,
only the warmth of having been understood,
like light slipping through the branches at dusk.

Her soul moves like autumn—
a gentle undoing, a quiet invitation
to become something more.
In every kindness she has given,
the world grows softer,
as if love had been woven
into the very air we breathe.

And though the seasons change,
her kindness stays—
in every small gesture carried on,
in every heart she helped to open,
and in me, too—
a leaf she taught how to turn toward the light.