Shadow Walk

There is a clicking somewhere off in the distant shadows where the winds blow restless in some despairing lonesome cry; overhead a jet plane roars within the stream disturbing the air of its thick clouds revealing darkening blue above the white billows and here in the fading garden paths bees and hornets grow tired of changing weather patterns; brilliant sun lights the shadows that walk beneath the maple and mighty oaks shedding multicolored leaves turning dried brittle brown blankets; November glistens beneath the sun the air crisp, clean, refreshingly cold awakening the soul to time changing moving forward ever back never standing still; the seasons writhe in light and dark blending sun and moon, day and night, and safely hidden in the blustery upheaval breaths the ghostly shadows walk.