The Sentient Season

In slumber I was but now am waking, stirring again as I have always done. I lift my head slowly, aware of the life awakening in me and shake my tousled bronze gold hair. With rebirth comes rememberance of all the seasons behind me I am old and yet am young again New stength coursing through me like fire. I stride amongst the trees, the wind whipping around me, and I laugh. Leaves color and fall as I pass swirling around as they are caught by the playful gusts. My fragrance is of decay, sweet and cloying permeating into the earth around me. My raiment is bark like, russet colored wrapping me close like an enfolding cloak. Stark trees are my sentienels, bare and skeletal in the fading light. Fierce coldness trailing from my fingertips Curling around me, leaving frost in my wake. Life pulses with in me, but is subdued my season one of changing and ending. I am the precursor of my pale brother and I lay the path for his renewal, my hand outstretched for him to take. I hold sway here for such a little time and I grieve that my creations will not continue, but I know I will feel my power wain and grudgingly will I submit to the will of time. I lie amongst the dry , brown leaves and gaze into a snow heavy sky. It is over now , my work completed, and I must sleep once more. The endless cycle begins anew I close my eyes and relinquish my burdens to another who will bear them for me until I wake again into the turning of the year. Athena Beauchamp 26 November , 1999