Under The Red And Golden Passageway

I stand under the red and golden passageway
Warm rain tattering on the leaves above
Shaking loose the sweet maple scent
Wafting in the mist that forms on the blacktop

The trunks painted in semi-gloss grey and black
Winter is well on its way, it's a matter of time now
How sweet the air is filled with the dying leaves
A paradox of life once more projected outwardly

The warm rain is fleeting and short lived
Bleak November will shortly envelop these woods
The sweet smell will give way to the hard crunch
Winters' coats of fur, snow and cold are coming

These days so alive with color bursting out everywhere
Soon to be replaced with a low sun and endless gray
The quietness of snow will subdue the sound of life
Bright sunshine will cast hope again that winter passes

Sleepy time for most, a quiet time for others
Warm fires, a good book or three to pass the time
A smile, an embrace, soft touches and a kiss
The hope that green sprites soon will dance again

Spectacular glory, short-lived, tender and frail
Celebrated, yearned for, loved and missed
Boots shushing in the piles of the dead and dying
Oh what beauty in it all, what grace, what love