Don't tell me the reason our skyward reprieve glancing the high changing winds of this ageless season. Your hand, the soft gesture of this strength returned an ancient harmony... We dance spiraling downward toward a crimson floor of fall's giving As echos resound through our secret spaces Chasing fear out of our garden's gate regained and we laugh together like God's first children- the softness of Autumn's light caressing our faces. From "Flashing the Autumn Eye" Painting Copyright T. Byron K. 1992