Season

Autumn: not winter, not yet,

the rains of spring, the fires of summer

behind, the snows of winter ahead;

autumn: the clock slowing,

the quiet growing in the cool light

of October, the wisest month when

color is seen most clearly, the color

always there hidden in a shroud of green

what mattered doesn’t

what matters is

oak and maple shed their possessions,

giving what they have to serve

what comes after, a compost

to molder and simmer and bake,

decaying and dissolving, waiting

the order of heaven: a time

for every purpose.

This poem is submitted for the One World Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. The prompt word is “season.” To see more submitted posts, please visit Peter's site. The links will be live at 10 p.m. Central time tonight.

Painting: Autumn Trees by David Wagner via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.


My recording of "Season:"

Season by Glynn2