Autumn

At last, I pause at eventide to take rest

amidst the shadows of the setting sun.

And as I watch I cannot help but ponder…

What could be the meaning of the falling leaves before me

returning gently to the earth from whence they came?

Are they as the fading memories of spring and summer days gone by?

Or are they as a beckoning voice calling to me from the unknown ways

of the cool and dimming days which lie yet ahead?

And again, what impression rides In the chill of the air,

which has returned to join, once again In the shadows of evening?

Is it an answer to the muddled prayers of countless parched days and dusty ways?

Or is it a subtle sign sent to urge and remind that the days draw short…

and winter’s night approaches.

Yes, I sit and ponder and in stillness watch the final rays of light,

knowing that the darkness will lead to the night’s dream,

from whence the colored days of the morrow shall be born.