A Seasons Whisper

                                       A Seasons Whisper

Summer escapes the cool breath of sister Autumn in subtle degrees. My skin, my soul, my sense of balance is pulled at, keened upon, as the dormant death seeps into the end of my year.

         Echoing winds push away the dry, spent leaves, pushing them aside for the anticipation of the new ones still months away. Even now, the dried, crinkly fingerprints of trees begin to breakdown, crumble into a billion tiny molecules and spread themselves over the cold, drained ground, giving themselves to the future new life that will draw their life from the fresh composted earth.

         I watch the verdant green in the blades of grasses slowly retreat into the ground and the warmth that is in the center of the Earth. The grasses sleep, protected from the coming harsh winter, the weighty snows, the crushing ice. When the time is right, the green will once again rise through the roots reaching deep into the warm core, and inhabit the grasses, bringing fresh color, new life, and the abundant radiance of health.

         The warm, wet air that for months carried the beautiful songs of myriad birds, caressed the very tops of majestic trees, surrounded safely the billions of individual lives of bees, butterflies and tiny hummingbirds, now struggles to remain. The sharpness of sister Autumn’s breath delves deeper and deeper each day, evening, sunrise. Summer struggles against the invasion, and the violent flashes of light and crashing doom is the echo of that battle, the battle Summer never wins.

And when Autumn’s breath is everywhere, Summers colors climb from their homes in one gloriously, explosively bright and beautiful and breathtaking and brief grandiose display, before fading into their secret dormancy, awaiting the call of sister Spring, after she once more overcomes Old Man Winter.