Awaiting Spring

There is a rustling of the leaves across the grass and drive; some quick motion moving forward scattering the brush into shape shifting patterns. It is a whisper of autumn’s fall brushing up against the wall and knocking at the windows and doors warning of the chill to come. The season stirs the creatures to hoarding, scurrying between the bush and hustling for a place to hide. The harvest has been picked, barley, wheat and rye are stored, fields are barren and empty of any growth, as the earth is set to rest, used, weary and tired. The days grow short and dark and soon the rustling of wind will give way to strong and torrential gusts that blow sleet and snow and cold Winter follows, cold and damp and chilling all sleep patiently awaiting spring.