impending
seasons
autumn is on the other side
of this wall.
it brings a chill to the warmth.
the air carries the weight
of anticipation.
the death of a short yet particular era;
or, simply the need for it to nap.
words carry a similar weight.
but actions are burdened with a heavy load.
what was once larger than
an idea,
now just a discolored leaf on a november tree.
ready to die,
or sleep?
without regard for an outcome.
layers of generations scattered
about the hissing wood.
decomposing into one discarded fuel.
once young and strong,
just as quickly,
floating and fluttering on the cool thick air
resisting the inevitable.
perhaps catching glimpses of the strong brothers,
not noticing that even their tips are yellowing.
the irony of the autumn is
the awareness of such bitter beauty.
peering at this bitch decade after year
through a glass pane of ignorance;
not realizing that there is nothing that separates
the eye that sees it
and the mind that comprehends it
from the fallen foliage…
except time.
