The Season is getting tired I can feel it in my bones
It is to me late summer my year of three seasons
Now approaches mid October next month is Winter
Cold damp air will burst strongly down upon us.
Swirling fogs slithering with purpose over bogs
Melting fallen leaves into a dark rich mulch.
My old kin knew only Winter, Spring and Summer
Enough for them and sufficient to feed me.
The vigour of dark nights star filled sparkling
Tangible air crisp vapours secrete silently upwards
Grass crunches like shards of glass under foot
O so strong, this glorious embracing time.
Late December new light is born to minutely stretch
Illuminate an ice coated lake with frost fringed edge
Pillowed snow sleeps quietly to glow under full moon
A covens chant mingles with owls cry as love abides
Waking mother earth to stir revive bring alive babes
Who under hot Summer sun seemingly died.
© MRL Oct 10th 2015
