With brew in hand, I step into a dew laden atmosphere that lies beneath a veil of grey, through which a huge, radiating circle of red rises and burns a hole, allowing the true colors of the day to seep through. Streams of blue, bleed through the green needles of the pines, as I sip my morning coffee and marvel at the crystal pinwheel patterns spun during the night, that now hang from my weather beaten fence.
In a melancholy breeze, I watch through cloudy eyes, a few leaves falling from the Crimson Kings, exposing the empty Robin’s nest I watched a Robin build - it seems - not so long ago, as I wonder through years gone by.
Across the way, where it seems only yesterday, I gazed at green pastures, I now gaze at fields of Queen Ann Lace, Golden Rods, Purple Asters and Scottish Thistles. When did, and how did all this happen? How quickly life goes by!
The sky above me turns black, as a flock of Starlings, swoop and sway and turn as one, before landing in the trees along the railroad track, breaking the silence with their deafening cries of summer's end, as a tear falls from my eye.
Author: Elaine Cecelia George, of Canada
Written: August 30, 2013