Things that Portend
by Michael Escoubas

It came when Autumn came …
a feeling not easily accounted for
a visitation
when leaves cry
hanging on branches swept by wind.

Winter, with its icy shades
and sculpted snow
waits offstage
as if on cue
from Nature’s knowing hand.

It came when Autumn came …
the cry, a little less than human
insisting that change
is on the way.
Autumn’s brushed gold

and sultry earth-tones portend
lifecycles, each sharing
an aspect
of beauty. Yet, a hint of decline
whispers in the wind.

It came when Autumn came …
how shall we welcome
this visitation
when summer’s warm fields
return no more?

Where is contentment
if not found
in things remembered
in joys emerging
when April’s green returns?



 

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