autumns call

Autumn was signaling her imminent arrival, as if summer hadn't just begun. 

Mid way through August and the fields are all ready to give way to goldenrod and aster.

The light is sliding to gold on the scales of time, passing slowly, but ever so quick. 

The goldfinches are feasting on the seeds of fading sunflowers. The brassy green grasses are coerced into sharing those sunny spots they've triumphantly held all summer long, making way for deep yellow and violet wildflowers filling out the hillside.

Hay is being taken in, I am too, with this most beguiling of seasonal shift. Air and light twine in a bewitching whirl of the golden last of the honeysuckle sweetness a year holds, offering one last drink.

I'll let it all carry me, as it always does through to another end, on to another beginning.

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