The Pearls of Catharsis Times Issue 01, Oct 2016 | Page 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.