The first Winter-colored sky of Autumn
Presented itself as a water-colored sunset,
Somehow reassuring; not as dreary as it should have been.
Last week it was Summer, hot and clear and windy -
Then the clocks fell back an hour and Wintertime crept in.
I wasn’t finished yet with Summertime.
There were lots of plans that slipped away,
Put off until another week or month and lost
In the relentless turning of the pages that are time.
Leaving me with wistfulness and guilt.
So many verses started and unfinished.
So many places I somehow ever went.
So much culture I let pass me by.
So many fellow travelers left unmet.
I wonder where I was for ninety days.
Later, as I step outside again, the sky is dark.
A gentle rain is falling very quietly,
As if it knows it’s here too soon, but
After years of parching draught, can’t wait a second longer
And I love the wetness on my upturned face.
The seasons change with subtilty, but they do change,
And there’s assurance in perceiving them.
No need perhaps for winter clothes
But still there is an Autumn frame of mind
That bridges sun to shadow and proclaims the march of time.
ljm
Is this a progress report or a weather report. Not sure it's a poem. Oh well.