FOGAMAR

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 fogamar (n.) (masculine)

1. the season of autumn

Irish; from fo- (“under”) +‎ gemred (“winter”).

Isn’t it beautiful?

The sun shying away from us, hiding behind puffy, white clouds. The quiet sigh of relief the falling leaves make. The warm hug of the soft wind that rushes to the trees to caress their hair of leaves.

Isn’t it beautiful?

Tread softly; do not disturb the birds that fly above to find food for their nestlings, do not wake the worms that squiggle and rest under your feet. 

Do you feel you have a right to be in this forest? Do you feel entitled to step on a bug, a living thing with each move you make? What ensures us, humankind, that we are not just malicious bacteria? Because at this moment, it sure feels like we are. We go around building houses and laying down concrete where life had been before, we throw litter to the sea and ocean, and without a second thought, we let the animals choke on it, and we drive huge, loud cars with those lights on that are so bright, they could make anyone blind, and we walk without caring where we step; and on top of all that, we don’t even question that we have a right to all this.

We are humans. We are superior. We invent the rules.

Right?

“Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

(William Butler Yeats)