Pondering Late Autumn and the Coming Chill

The golden leaves have made their show that always comes this time of year, but now as limbs are looking bare, an umber blanket covers ground. I’ve seen the harvest moon on high as farmers reap what they have sown when spring was warm and rains were soft, and life was young and full of hope. I’ve felt the greet of crisp fall morn as dog days finally disappeared, and seen the flair of Aster’s bloom that softly bath in autumn sun. But now this late November chill as winds are blowing from the north; the skies have turned a shade of grey that beckons bears to hibernate. This changing season causes me to pause and ponder life itself; ‘tis said it’s but a metaphor for time of year and age of man. Like golden leaves, these golden years leave barren limbs and umber grounds; the greying hair is like the skies of late November’s dulling hue. And as I ponder season’s change my thoughts have turned inside myself to moments past and current paths, and mulling what my future holds. I’m wondering if I will see the coming of another spring, or will my being hibernate eternally within its tomb. October 16, 2020 Blank verse written in iambic tetrameter