Assumptions

Autumn -- though I've always loved it --
is assumed to be a season of loss:
there the leaves blaze up and fall,
baring the true branch that lies beneath;
here it is the sun that blazes
in glorious september sunsets,
only to sink behind a veil of gray,
buried for all winter and most of spring.
But what if loss is not solely
precursive to resurrection?
What if loss - even of hope - is in itself
a gift?  Why weep? Do not the gray
and bare have beauty of their own?

It is another Blog Carnival Tuesday.  Join in the fun and excitement at Peter's place. Today's One Word Prompt is SEASON.