Dear Autumn,
The irony of all your joy grows expansive as your sky,
And yet in all that gray embrace, I joy to watch green leaves die.
With a whirling whistle of cold white winds
A rejuvenating gust bites at my shins,
Still exposed, vulnerable in my summer shorts.
The leaves do turn, lighting fire and releasing a crisping, crackling, crunching fulfilled yearn-
To jump along the foliage, and feel that cold embrace
Of power, joy and serenity all nipping at my face
The winds of fall do whistle, bringing with them a mixed blessing
Of wind, and chill and vibrancy
Yet, with that energy comes the recognition from the leaves,
That death is twirling and whistling with the winds
Gusting ever closer to the things that made those summer months
So beautiful…
And I do, still recognize the making of dear fall, the death and dying of all things green-
Make way for an all new dark cold
Night.
With reddened cheeks, and stinging, tender, delicate noses-
With dried, cracked, bleeding skin, over broken, and shattered compacted ice-
We slip and slide and stumble here in these dark months that master you.
And yet in that brief time, when your vivacious air does rule-
I think I’ll sit and stay awhile, and watch you seasons duel.
For death though an evil thing,
Brings to me a better sin,
To breathe in your dark cold sighs,
And watch it all, quite comfortably, through wider still brown eyes.
For my doors are shut, my windows sealed,
And though you may whirl and whip, dear winter,
I remain warm and safe,
Sitting indoors
-Perhaps the only place-
Where winter can be so acceptable.
For I remain quite lucky you see,
Because the cold that fall brings,
Can’t touch me.
