Autumn Ferns

You sail
over marmalade hills,
rolls of crunching fire beneath your feet
crushed at speed
passing naked trees, the rush of billowing water in the river,
shorn short are the skeletons of flowers you'd admire
and pluck from long stems of green,
now grey.
In the fleeting dawn sleeps lengths of sunshine, bright and warm leaving skin shaded,
replaced with Yaga's dusk and force
decimating spaces once jungles of growth.
You sail over marmalade hills,
and I marvel at how you've changed
along with this land.