Transitory

“Look up,” she cried, And the rains came swiftly, Overwhelming her youth With migrant purpose. Summer’s demise, So abrupt, Interrupted her sound-scape, Giving her pause. “Look around,” she said, And autumn bowed to her, A colorful character In shades of golden afternoons. Sequestered among Such vividness, She found solace and comfort Through the grace of experience. “Look up,” she laughed, And silver dusted her hair, Weighing the diversity She wore as a crown. Abstract changes Became her teacher, A benevolent Yet unforgiving presence. “Look around,” she said, And spread her arms wide, Dancing in the perspective Of winter. This life is transitory, Best marked By the seasoning Of one’s attitude.