Bathing in sunlight,

life tastes

the crisp, winter air.


Sweeping over windows

and branches,

the wind turns.

Leaves drift soundly

and fall to the ground

in autumnal shades,

yellow and orange.

We are pleased to present a new poem from our official Garden Poet, Aryan Kaul.  

Long, bony limbs

reach out. Fingers creeping.

Crawling skywards. A tree, 

and a building look up, dreaming,


maybe of some soft snowfall

to blanket them. A disguise

to guard them.