By Tony DeLorger © 2011
How evident the tinge of autumn,
leaves curled and golden dry,
amassing multihues of crisp cover,
to be dowsed by chilled rains,
and the given promise of winter gloom.
How lonely streets, windswept and trodden,
blanketed by shedding trees,
left like bony claws outstretched,
touching the brooding plump skies,
holding back the darkness momentarily.
Brisk walking, layered wool,
scarves and gloves and long coats,
contend with night, its bleak capture,
its raw emptiness unyielding,
riveting cold, moist and harsh.
Doors shut with certainty,
their echoes filled with hast,
to seal life within of warmth,
and the gentle encapsulation of refuge,
safe within the glow of embers.
How I love the contrast,
the very will of seasons,
enacting nature’s loving hand,
to lay her cards out so openly,
so honestly, one after another,
no pair, none of a kind.
Each season, each delivery begs respect,
demands its will in beauty,
in miraculous change and evolution,
the sweet moods of Mother,
her most onerous duty revealed.
Change is inevitable.