Are we too late?

The crisp autumn leaves blow softly across my face.

                                           Lightly                                                                                                                               A stream of lightly trickling water jumps down the rocks, in threads of clear aqua.

                                             Slowly

The tangerine marigolds sway to the rhythm of the wind.

                                            Slowly                                              

I watch as the rivulets of water reach my feet, pooling and bustling through the dense trees.

                                            Quietly

As the silverfish leap out of the glistening stream, kingfishers take their chance for a bite to eat.

                                            Silently

Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring. They change quickly and silently.

                                            Always

But everything changes. Is it too late to save the earth? Is it?