Turning and Returning

It always comes back around to this.

The chill in the air

the flowers bursting with fullness

leaves fading and falling from that last

magnificent exhale

the distinct bittersweet smell of marigold

becoming round as globes

with their million petals unfolding

everything that dies is born again

a sowing of its own seed

spinning down to the ground

like an arrow into the earth

the small ones scamper to store away

nourishment for their later awakening

we think of those who will be missing

this time

but we build offerings to them anyway

in case there’s a chance they too may return

and so they do

standing

across the river on a crisp day

under the cloudless cobalt sky

the eagle flies after a sparrow

who has left from her drink along

the turquoise ribbon almost too late

but soon enough

crumbs of bread cast away from a pocket

float upon the stream

nipped about by that small fish.

What is its name? I can’t remember.

It’s almost my birthday again

the water rushes

so many small bits flow away

new waters come just as fast

the ones not here bring tears

but it’s nice to see them across

the way

what’s been left behind

given and received or not taken

what’s been gathered and prepared

the spinning casts off that

which can not hold

the spinning sets new seeds and

brings the clouds back around again

Image and poem by Anne Elise Urrutia, Fall 2026, all rights reserved. Thanks to Cynthia and Amanda for the cake.