With the early morning chorus, fingers would pull in upon coat, cloak scarf and hat making sure it kept the chill at bay. Flesh would speak of the shudder that autumn brought, warm breath causing condensation upon glass and window pane.
My hands eager to clutch upon a mug of steaming liquid of favored delight, to perhaps keep at bay the in coming winter’s bite.
Eyes would behold the golden dawn, the sun burning through the mist like dawn .
The sound of children’s laughter, distant yet would awaken the stirrings of joy and inspiration to form upon lips and within the slumbering place of your soul.
With the contrast of orange, browns and burnt sienna’s eyes would become illuminated upon the splendor and rugged beauty of August, September and eventually October, where feet tossed upon leaf and fallen litter of the canopies above.
Branches almost baron but still speaking of the riches to come, for squirrels and birds foraged, little furry hands digging into the moist earth to burry seeds, nuts and fruits for the incoming winter, and no doubt for the next spring.
Perhaps our minds would ponder if this was a deliberate thing that perhaps these creatures were demented or had a short memory, for not all of their hordes were remembered.
With the whispering wind that spoke through the falling leaves, it would alert us to the natural cycles that were all around us. Death and rebirth, as a door must close so one must open.
Mother Nature was about to slumber, her touch to still and become cold, where it had once been warm and inviting, her sadness would be felt by many, yet within that suppression was the knowing that spring would eventually come, to gladden the hearts and minds of many a beast, entity and creature.
For now however the smell of Fall would be exuberant within our nostrils, the lingering of pine needles, beach, sap and moss.
The black, bird, thrush and wren, calling out their song in a reverent lamentation, worshiping all that was.
Nut of acorn would become sapling and eventually tree, with the ebb of time, days forming into weeks, and inevitably years, children’s laughter turned into a lover’s chorus, and then wizened hands enveloping their beloveds.
Feet kicking up leaves in the remembrance of that child like innocence, something that would never truly leave us, neither would the knowing that with each cycle everything changed, matured, became more magical.
This is what autumn sings, eager to remind us we are that seed, we are the children’s laughter, tall tree and singing bird.
We possess, its wisdom, its child like curiosity and knowing that everything is as it should be. Perfect radiant and dappled like the dew drops of spring upon every leaf and blade of grass.
