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.
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