Morning light comes later now,
No longer bright at six a.m., but dark,
And an earlier evening descends
As the earth in its spinning orbit of the sun,
With its tilted and unchanging axis, finds
The sun’s rays less direct on the North Pole,
Moving us closer to the autumnal equinox.
Within the green woodland
Signs of fall quietly appear,
In the South dogwood trees lighten
With an aura that shades to crimson,
And in the North touches of yellow and red
Flame amongst the hemlock,
As leaves land here and there,
Signaling both an end and a beginning.
Along the traveled byway
The black-eyed Susan wildflower
Winks joyfully in the summer breeze,
And sunflowers stand tall in garden plot
Or farmer’s field, grown for beauty
And for the harvest of their seeds,
A favorite for the ever-hungry birds,
Affecting with their avian song and flashing feathers.
To our alert ears
The rolling buzz and click of the cicada’s tymbals
Is the sound of summer, intensifying in August,
A background anthem accompanying a stroll in the garden
To admire lantana, alive with multi-hued loveliness,
Or impatiens, with colorful wide-open faces, and
Begonias, lavish in shades of serene pink, while
Bright marigolds nestle near queenly red geraniums, exquisite, all.
Seasons come and soon enough they go,
Be it through the world’s natural turn
Or as periods of challenging time,
Even as the gentle passage of our own years,
Rails they are, as seasons frame and steer our lives,
Sometimes along a course we never imagined,
But always in the looking back,
How quickly it all went.