The Autumn light cascading,
through dappled tree topped ceilings.
The whispering wind is flowing,
Over grasses and open fields.
She dances to the rhythm,
That hides within her soul.
The music only she can feel,
The story still untold.
She gathers grace and wisdom,
As she gildes around the glen.
The dance is overwhelming,
Her movements are now weak,
But as long as the rhythm guides her,
Her soul will keep the beat.
Watch her as she moves now,
beneath the blazing trees.
The dance is carrying her onwards,
her past has disappeared.
She searches not nor mourns it,
As she moves at every speed.
Her past is just a part of,
The dance that leads her feet.
Under the Fig Tree 