 When Autumn Comes David N. Hutto There’s a chill in the air, I‘ve not felt before Even though my shawl is tight and cloak heavy Still it penetrates my soul, When autumn comes. The Painter dips His brush in pigment no man would choose, To splash the azure sky with scarlet, rust, and gold To remind us just how mortal we are, When autumn comes. The loon’s cry echoes across the water to her mate, Affirming her life long bond without regard or shame. Love’s sweet song pours forth, When autumn comes The woodwinds play their song, swaying in time above my head With clouds drifting by in soft silence Lifting my spirit with them, When autumn comes Murmurs of familiar voices mingle with the rustle at my feet Hattie’s sweet mountain song seems so near. Leaves part as Each step moves closer to the past, When autumn comes The path is partly covered now, once well trodden through saplings green. I choose a slower pace now with steps more sure, and certain, Because there is less to prove, When autumn comes. The mist hangs over the pond so still... a shroud to the other side Providing a glimpse of detail but leaving most to the imagination. There is still much yet to know, When autumn comes.     |