The end of a season is upon us,
One instinctively yoked to death and decay.
Yet, lavishness exists here;
A great symphony of loveliness and delicateness,
Perceived by the rapt observer.
Rushing autumn wind in ears,
Multiplied by the momentum of the cyclist.
Whistling softly, cooling perspiring skin.
The scent of dying chlorophyll wafts softly,
Coupled with the aromas of the harvest:
The tripartite sweetness of corn, soy and hay.
This peaceful country road
Is enfolded by furiously red, overbearing Sumacs.
Spinning wheels whir and hum,
The constant noise punctuated melodiously
By flittering leaves in the wood beyond.
A falcon perches lightly, eyeing its prey.
This symphony of scent, sight and sound,
Transforms this season of death
Into a period of glory and splendor.
A mainspring of rest and renewal,
For anyone willing to seize it.
Sweltering heat is made thick by the wetness of summer rains, still hours away.
Syrupy air is difficult to breathe yet it carries the sweetness of the season’s blooms.
Fervent winds cool sunbathers’ skin, soaking up the heat pined for in winter.
A storm brews in the distance.
Blackness suddenly creeps into the atmosphere.
Soon a few patient raindrops fall heavy from the sky.
Then ardently, the pent-up moisture descends from the heavens as if in a solid pane.
The air is instantly cooled and its electric quality is palpable.
The pitter-patter of drops on pavement draws out the scent of the city.
Wet asphalt suggests renewal; superficial, fleeting.
Short-lived, the intense storm is burned up by the returning sun.
A rainbow is left, a brief reminder of nature’s conundrum:
Magnificent beauty and ruthlessness, power, necessity.
The entire sky glows as crimson sunlight bounces off cotton-ball clouds.
The earth is nourished again.