This Fall (Creatively Speaking)

I’m afraid.

I’m scared.

Everything around me is falling.

Leaves are falling,

rain is falling,

dark is falling,

trees and lives and the sky itself is falling.

Each day is getting colder, and colder,

and darker and darker.

Summer is just a memory. 

A warm memory of a warm time,

when sunshine ruled the skies and our hearts.

And I know the seasons must change,

And after winter must come spring.

But this was a muted fall.

We were robbed of our final colorful splash,

our last glimmer of hope that we can hold on to

and take in that final breath of scenery,

then squeeze our eyes shut

in some sort of hibernating state of denial.

But denial about what?

Is the world going to end, in December?

Based on some ancient prophecy?

Or maybe the world is going to end this week,

at the hands of Mother Nature,

stirring her witch’s brew of weather;

like a Halloween-inspired Frankenstein-ian

concoction of drowning rage.

Is the world going to end?

What do I do?

What do we do?

I’m afraid.

I’m scared.

Everyone around me is falling.

Stumbling, screaming, crying.

Falling.

Summer is just a memory. 

A warm memory of a warm time,

when sunshine ruled the skies and our hearts.

And I know the seasons must change,

And after winter must come spring.

But this was a muted fall.

Those screams and cries

seem to be stifled amongst the prophecies

and doomsayers and empty promises,

that come with ghosts and ghouls and

the fog,

and the full moon hidden then revealed,

by the ever-moving clouds,

and the hauntingly-howling winds.

The winds of change.

They always come this time of year.

They signal the coming of the end.

And yet, before we reach the end,

Before we reach the harsh cold of winter,

We give thanks; we celebrate thanks,

We give gifts to each other,

We turn unselfish,

We celebrate, eat, drink, and be merry,

(even if there is an air of cynical commercialism),

once again I’ll try to focus on

the deeper meaning,

the true intent,

and squeeze my eyes tighly shut,

in my attempt to block out the negative,

in some sort of intentional state of positivity.

And in the end,

we’re not at an end,

for every end,

is also a beginning,

a new year,

then a new spring.

For I know the seasons must change,

and after winter must come spring,

even if this was a muted fall.

There will be a new colorful splash,

our next glimmer of hope that we can look forward to

and take in that new breath of scenery,

then open our eyes wide open

in some sort of awakening state of joy.

And I’m no longer scared,

And I’m no longer afraid,

I just have to make it through the rain,

and the dark,

and stand tall.