Its a grey, wet day here in Belgium.
Most of the leaves have now fallen from the trees. They carpet the forest floor in a mass of grey and brown.
Yet not all the leaves. A straggler caught my eye. In the most vivid hues of red and orange it still sung its autumn song. I picked one up. Then another.
The drizzle continued to fall. A monk in the distance worked away in the garden. I knelt. A pattern of leaves soon took shape on the group before me. Soon a yellow leaf caught my eye, then another still green. It was almost as if the forest was building the mandala through me.
I smiled as I walked away.