The white puffs of my breath, rising as hot-air balloons, blush less ghostly as winter days fade in. Up they sail, expanding, dissipating. As they ascend the final leaves rain down. The trees are close to their elegant form, their dancer limbs awaiting snow, next season’s buds yet to grow. No longer is the pathway ambient underfoot, yet heat-hungry as it cradles the first fragments of frost, frost that glitters as if it were mirror-rain.

September 2026

 

A grey sistine chapel sky rolls as endless marble in the heavens. White glints flash as dove wings, flash in the sun-rays Sister Autumn cherishes. Light rain swirls. A tapestry of leaves is the garland of the ground. The holy harvest of the robins becomes red and redder still even as the blackberries plump to full fill. Winter, old man winter, he comes with blank leaves, awaiting the new stories of rabbits and voles, of fox and badger, rat and toad. The floral scent bows to the loam, bows to the ice and bitter cold. For seasons come, for seasons pass and the rubicon we acknowledge aghast.

November 2, 2025.

 

A sugar-spun sky hugs a lemonade sun as gummy bear leaves play air-tag for fun, wild and free in season’s recess. Summer days done, pumpkin days fresh lit, sweeten the way ahead. Halloween whispers its spooky tales, tales of darkness, tales of woe. Cinnamon aroma is a knitted air-scarf as nature takes her well earned rest. Slumber she will, dreaming of spring, of floral raves and butterfly wings.

September 20, 2025.

 

A grumble of cars plastered the crumbling street, rusting hulks steaming as angry beasts. Worn tyres spun on degraded leaves, pulping beauty to a polluted heap. Not a tuppence was tossed to caroling birds, a-busking with all their might. Not an eye was raised to a stranger’s smile, much to paranoia’s delight. Grim. Dank. Damp. Dark low hung storm clouds, threatening relentless sleet long into the darkest hours.

September 19, 2025.

 

“Twas a pernicious wind that cleared the path and froze the arboreal blooms, for it abhorred the largesse of Lady Autumn. Rather, it saluted only the greyest of solemnitude. This draft you see was a contemptuous fellow, as witty as he was prodigal. So whence comes he and doths his cap faux-earnestly – gesturing toward the leaf-strewn way, gesturing toward the defrocking trees, – I beseech you remember, remember, remember this forewarning. Let foreboding, let icy dread, fill both soles and heart. At once decry his surreptitious service and bay, “Winter’s ghoul depart!”

May 15, 2025.

 

Shadows tremble; shadows quiver; shadows curl under the double clock. Night versus day. Autumn versus Winter. So temporary are they! Night erases, day re-draws, on and on they struggle in silent dispute… Until winter’s cold tide doth wash them clean away, doth coat their lofty abodes with ice, doth crumble their beauty into longest decay. Hark! Observe! The withering has begun! Mark my words, one and all, before November has sung her last, the boughs will be full bare.

May 2, 2025.

 

Even as the winter sun readies for her time over the frozen land, the autumn bequeaths a garland of confetti, a gift of seasons past and a promise of seasons to come.       

September 11, 2020.

 

As autumn became the winter time I gazed toward the sky, my soul expecting to see a blue sun, as if the rays would somehow be colder in those icy days. Instead they were of course still golden, divinely warm upon my chilled skin. And in that light the carpet of leaves became a sort of natural bling, as if Earth had declared herself queen and found the confidence to wear such God-given jewels.

September 11, 2020.

 

Autumn and winter have come to their feasting table for the time to exchange goblets has come.

September 11, 2020.

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