Late Fall … Beyond the Indian Summers

Late fall, winter weather moving in beyond the Indian Summers of autumn’s warmer days. The trees stand bare, a few leaves dry and hanging on, shaking a fist in defiance at the winds that stripped bare and scattered other leaves more ready to let go, completing this cycle of nature, spring growth to summer richness to fall’s letting go, the way of all things. The days are growing shorter, and we rise in darkness and settle for the night early, the darkness settling among the trees, over the lake, black now, the light gone out, replaced by incandescence shining through glass, light held inside as we, settling ourselves against the dropping temperatures and darkness, restful at the end of the day, warmed within these walls, red wine, a merlot rich and red, mellowing the short hours before sleep, our silence broken by the haunting call of an owl unseen, a warning of night time waking, a world we cannot share, cannot know, diurnal creatures that we be, ill-equipped for darkness. But we are content here now, behind closed doors, locked in tight against the darkness, against the cold, warmed by the silence, a glass of merlot – rich and red – and the company we keep, the two of us, growing older, content in this our autumn, winter weather moving in beyond the Indian Summers of our lives.