Summer's End

 Autumn is portending outside, seeping from an ending into an anxious beginning; knowing what is coming but unsure of how it will go. Summer has been more of a contemplation than a vacation, where presence took a look around and didn't want to join the preoccupied party. The sound of creaking tin, barking dogs, and logging trucks in the distance, ride on the wind through open windows, colouring the silence of 4am. 

The previous way of spending days no longer holds the same satisfaction, yet continues to bait and switch as if there is a problem with it. No apologies or excuses can explain the changes, though there's no need to justify what's happening; it is simply time passing with guarded ease, deepening wrinkles, and falling leaves - the extant stuff of observation to those beyond a certain age, judiciously accepting their years.

Melancholy merriment, complacent discontent; incongruent comforts fill the spaces in. More and more, fleeting moments of bliss belie the enchantment of ripening anticipation. What's next is anybody's guess, yet the capacity to handle whatever shows up far outweighs the surety of youthful confidence. The season of intuition dawns; a slight glowing in the shadows of knowing, heralding what's to be done and undone...

All that is familiar lends a protective hand, uplifting fear to rear itself with the conviction of unfathomable understanding; an unknown future arises to awareness, memory can surely guide a plan of action, or stillness, depending on requirements. As nature endures without much ado, so are we transitioning scenery; growing, sustaining, and decaying all at the same time.

At summer's end, corvids caw, circling above rotting bales of straw, teasing the dogs. The remnants of warm weather celebrations strewn around the yard stir like tumbleweeds, reminiscing about their usefulness. Daylight now casts a darker hue, just as people do, when the time has come to take stock of what was, and prepare for winter's dormant view.



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