The Pearls of Catharsis Times Issue 01, Oct 2016 | Seite 4

"( yes , yes , yes ) It ' s my autumn almanac "

These curtains of the seasons open as they close , self times and tide of shifting mood that every doodle in the sky pursues . Dry dusk voices on the wind of nature ’ s sweet mortality attest , the guard has changed and one by one the stars are caught , too soon the nights draw in . No doubt of summer ’ s golden ticket spent , the sun ’ s attentive bliss no longer so . A chill instead , a sadness is , where once was lush a gathering of brittle leaves . The waking window greets a day as still as stone . Grey morning mists of cowl and cloak that muffle sound and stifle light . For all the world some phantom place where air and distance are but not . Nature , nature , story teller , illustrator . Sharp these days of fall , a confluence , an agitator , fit to shake the handles on our wardrobe doors . Now come angry winds plait tight with darker skies . Distant thunder rumbles so a will entire of autumns ; stroppy child . And for all I throw my hands towards these wild clouds , nature shall not hold me with regard . For all this dance of fractured light , I can dress these autumn ways , sealed tight and proofed from wind and rain . Best foot forward , muddied boots and natural wonder dancing on the mirrored ripples of the lake . Autumn sad as if she cannot make her mind and yet such rich and textured beauty in her dying touch , such compass in her burnished colours , hanging , dripping like ending sun .