Beware the cold chill of winter, the numbing of your bones; the fearful howl of wild wind, whipping about the stones. Be careful of the darkness, creeping closer and more quickly in, as the icy bonds of winter, start slowly to begin. As you sit during that final day, down by the riverside, you know the truth all too well, the earth’s familiar and lonely sigh.
The rains have ceased for today, and the bitter wind has come. Clouds part briefly to display the last remnants of summer’s sun. The rock you sit on is cold and hard, the ground by your feet is damp, the wind weasels through your clothes and starts your muscles to chill and cramp. But still you stay, on this cold day, to watch the world change skins; from warm summer/fall, to nature’s next call: the shivering chill of the winter season.
The river, now, is running wild, as the rains have filled its banks, the rampant water of winter’s child, now filling up its flowing ranks. You listen and can hear the roar, the rumble and the crash, as the water now ebbs and pours and rages over dry beds in a thundering flash. You see the debris, carried on the currents with seeming glee, down from the mountains on high. And from where you sit, it feels like spit, cold drops from the river in your eyes.
But from this display you turn your gaze toward a slightly smaller production, a little rodent that is bent on his own miniature construction. Scampering from here to there and here again, he gathers food for his winter’s store, taking great mouthfuls of leaves and nuts, hiding them in the earth’s muddy floor. After a long while of this repetitive exhibition, he decides he his done, being just simply one, he heads for his home and his long hibernation.
From the water to rodents, now to the sky, the treetops are next to catch your curious eye. Struggling to hang on -- the last of its kind -- one single leaf has made up its mind to cling to its branch for the rest of its time. The wind plays a drama with this lone survivor, whipping and thrashing it until one final shiver signifies the leaf’s defeat. With what seems almost a sorrow it releases its last hold on life, floating softly to the floors of tomorrow.
The sun is now gone, completely hidden from sight by the gray potent clouds which can give such a fright. In the distance a thunder clap rolls in the approaching night, and the sky is illuminated as lightning flashes bright. Winter is here, now and for the year; darkness has come, hiding from you the face of the sun. The leaves are now gone, released from the grip that had held them so long. The animals are tucked safely away, waiting for the next warm, sunny day. And the water is raging, angry and furious, until summer’s heat will dry it -- so curious. And as the dim rays of day fade bleakly away, with the cold grip of night holding you tight, you can hear the last pleas as autumn flees and takes flight, and the cold earth sighs as jovial day turns to dark night.
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