Autumn’s Clammy Fingers

Autumn’s Clammy Fingers

Misty, clammy, chilly, gloomy and dim.

Promise of the darkness to come.

The land slowly dies to brown.

The grey sky drizzles its tears.

The jolly reds, oranges and yellows

Soon fade into an earthy dun

The crisp drifting into soggy heaps

Graves of the fallen weary warriors.

The birds now hesitant in trees

Suspend their song to conserve energy

As the skies gather their fury

And the air leaches its heat.

The world waits in suspended breath

For the onslaught of the winter

Anticipating the blast of icy exhalation

And the dire battle to survive.

Opher – 28.10.2023

I don’t like autumn with its clammy fingers of death. The warmth of the earth fades into damp and cold. Death is on the wind. Death is in the piles of dropped leaves. Death is in the icy fingers of early morning with its promise of freezing ground.

I don’t like this slow withdrawal of the warmth and sunshine; this retreat into the drear.

I don’t like this hiatus before the big freeze.

The reawakening seems so far away.

Bring me life!

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