Late Seasons Speak

LATE SEASONS SPEAK

Autumn's sorrowing voice
whispers in dismay
at winter's stealthy approach.
Anxiously awaiting
the moment when even
the semblance of serenity
is stripped away
by the blistering breeze.
Sun-swept streets fall silent,
the air compellingly frigid.
All but the most hardy
of souls stay in their homes,
conquering the darkness
with enforced cheer.
A small keening wind begins,
flickering at the windows,
tickling the outer edges
of hearing, tunelessly singing
of the whirling white banshee
that is the coming winter.
It begins softly, crooning
a dangerous lullaby,
so mezmerizingly simple.
Autumn's voice is smooth, soft,
while winter's song is stern;
telling all to be wary.
Days of glacial beauty
are approaching, the dance
a glittering sonata of their own...

Tracy L Cartwright