A Season of Change

 With awe I stand and welcome

November's mystic skies;

and its multi-textured canvas

that is crowded with surprise.

The harvest has been gathered,

fresh cider, too, is pressed,

silence reigns across the vales

and fields have earned their rest.

How classic are the orchards,

with their branch without its leaf;

and vines of twisted starkness,

of their burdens now relieves.

The pines, I know, are anxious;

their droll bleakness tells me so,

impatient for warm blankets

pieced with fleecy flakes of snow.

While the hills appear despairing,

now unshrouded of their grass;

and yet with hopeful voice proclaim,

"We know this, too, shall pass."

For now the winter's frosty wings

are swiftly flying near

and with the coming season

flows new music to my ear.

So to each season's symphony

I bid farewell and yearn

to greet each new performance

in its fanciful return.

~ Don Beckman