Autumn II

I stare out my window

At treetops, fresh-painted,

And sunlight that beckons

And fast-moving clouds.

My hands press the glass;

It is cold and unyielding.

The Wind howls in sorrow

The leaves fall and die.

I retreat with a shiver

And pull on a sweater.

With hot mug of coffee,

I conjure some warmth

And with one fleeting gasp,

Breathe the last breath of Summer

I wrap in a blanket

To ward off the Cold.

Some nondescript geese

In a noisy formation

Press on through the wind

In their search for the Sun.

(Could I, nondescript,

Dare to join in their journey,

Or am I too earthbound

To never look back?)

Oh, Autumn, you Paradox,

Season of beauty,

Of color and dying

Of Sunlight and Wind!

By the time that I’ve seen you,

You’re already memory.

Bare branches beckon

The Winter to come.

© Pamela Stead Jones 2008