The Fall
That first lone leaf twirling slowly to the ground
The first casualty in the war of this season.
One swallow does not a summer make
That one leaf shows what is to come.
Soon it will joined by so many of its comrades
Victims of the insidious sniper of the fall.
The scalpel of the East wind cuts through
The softness summer supplied.
Flowers fading, the absence of bird song
Both signalling the entombment on the way.
Hills cleanly etched against a pale blue sky
Coldly carved in the brittle brightness
Sunlight with all the warmth of a stepmother's smile
Draining the goodness of the moment
The chill of decay portends death
In that illusory cheating glint
Skeletal trees, bare fields, lowering skies
Icy frost and thick blankets of snow.
Some will not live to witness
The ritual of resurrection
But come it will
The earth shaking off its shroud
Then there will peep out
The shy green shoots
Prelude to the glories and glamour of summer
With its heady scents, rich colours and bright song.
This yearly drama plays out its four acts
To let all know everything has its season.
Depending upon where you start
It can be comedy, tragedy or farce
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