Ah, sweet Autumn, the drama star of the year –
her short performance like a stunning operetta,
rich and deep throated.
She begins her exit in a swirl of glittering skirts,
and in an aria of geese farewells off-stage.
She is the season of vintage beauty,
her backdrop dabbled in shades of velveteen.
her harvest moon lantern hanging low in the sky.
Autumn measures her dance steps on the mountains,
as even now, her companion Wind rushes onstage to undress
the trees and toss their leafy petticoats at their bare feet.
Our star is taking her poignant last few bows,
and straining to hear applause.
Even now she knows that a new “star” is about to come.
I, myself, am comforted to the seasons take their turns,
and know when to hand over the stage to the next act on the calendar.
It is all very natural, very timely of course, but still I feel poised
on the finale of inspiring fall and I linger my glances at the color still
clinging to a few branches, to mountain tops in the fog, and
at the last fragile vestiges of Autumn’s singular beauty.