Autumn

I wrote this poem in the end of August 2009, and it seems fitting to share it once again...

My eager friend has left his subtle fingerprints across a day that is not his own.
A scent, one smell - a memory. "Back so soon?"
But no. Just a hint, in jest, before retreating - almost undetected - into the August midday.
A shade, a hue, has caught my eye - a leaf anxiously embracing my dear friend's splendor.
A deliciously majestic auburn, shaming it's neighbors in appearance.
But this poor, beautiful leaf will be the first to fall... a leader for the myriads to follow.
"You're too early, dear friend", and I know he agrees as the wind catches my hair.
"A couple more weeks, then?"...and I know he's gone again.
But soon, as time dances away another season, he'll return.
With ferver and passion he'll paint his canvas in rich golds, intermingling reds, oranges and browns - a stunning work of art.
But his welcome is never as warm as the world which he creates around us.
A sigh, at first;
a mourning time over the loss of another sweet season who left us much too young.
In this sad state we sit, as my friend labours, unappreciated, to remake the world around us.
He knows his time will come...
And then, before it even seems he was here at all, he will be the one dearly missed.
I've missed you, my old friend. Welcome back.