Summers End

Here in our little town, the summer folk are leaving,

the long weekend behind us, an end and an exodus,

returning to their real lives someplace else, away

to places they call home, their camps now closed and shuttered,

docks and boats safely stored for the coming winter.

But our lives continue here, autumn lying ahead

in reds and orange; lighter shades of gold and green

embrace us now in the silence of their leaving,

a silence we turn inward toward ourselves,

another summer gone and our winters stretching ahead.

And the days shrink before us, days gone dark

before we are ready, spoiled as we were by this summer season,

rising and then settling again in darkness,

a darkness blown in on a breeze, slightly felt,

as we fortify ourselves, taking stock and laying in our needs.

Our needs are but a few, really, a red sunset over the lake,

a fire and friends to share our evening, talk

of the changes ahead and life itself, the warmth

of living here among the changing seasons,

the smell of burning leaves smoldering in the air;

and the barrenness of fall, stark against a fading sky,

the scent of snow to come, quilting our lives,

and the winter stars’ return, Orion’s belt and his great

stride marching across the blackness of a deep winter night,

carrying with him the promises of our lives lived here.

For we are blessed by these heavens above us,

by the seasons we share, nature’s cycle of birth

and growth and, yes, death, and in death, renewal,

a continuance of our lives shared with the summer folk

leaving, a reminder of the seasons of our own time,

the blessings of who we are and where we live.