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There's no reason for me to think
that the four seasons run wild and free.
There's a God out there, and He's in charge.
Sure, every season has a mind of its own,
and each knows exactly where she belongs.
Moreover, they feel right at home with all they do.
Each may inadvertently cross its boundaries, but all
things being equal, they are tolerant of each other.

My favorite season is Autumn, and she is somewhat
different than her sister Spring, who brings life but is
quite often late on arrival. Autumn tends to be softer
and brings a healing touch. And I think she's calmer
than both Summer and Winter.

Those two siblings can be a bit mean and overstay their
welcome. I think that Autumn is reliable and steady, and
most likely to live up to the expectations of others. She's
graceful and not likely to come with bells and whistles.
That's because she tones things down, not up.

Summer starts her demise, having sung her songs.
Winter is restless, but Autumn stares back and keeps her calm.
She then informs the trees, preparing them for color changes.
They won't tell you, but trees themselves sometime get bored
with green. They know that the colors in Autumn are much
more photogenic, and they can't wait.

Cameras are prepping, and the leaves on the trees are salivating,
because they know that they will be proudly staging before long.
Monarch butterflies, having enjoyed the summer, are presently
setting their compass south toward Mexico. No, birds are not headed
south just yet, but they are thinking about their long flight south.

081422PS

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