Good Life


A breeze titillates the golden husks,


in the final moments of

Indian summer.

Mums blaze russet fullness

from midday rays.

The sky, a canvas of

yellow, blue, white, and grey shades.

The earlier sunsets

serve as grave markers

for the waning heat.

My cheeks,

numb and red

in the chilled air,

a reminder of cruel reality

that the time spanning a season is infantile.

Languid days spent out in the sun

will soon be replaced with

saturnine snow, and

billowing blankets.

The surrounding agrarian land

stands beyond the ridge,

resting below my abode.

Sanctified with untouched peace,defiled

by the temptation of nightfall.

So many adventures

and memories,

on winding roads and

outstretched hills

under different conditions,

seasonal and emotional.

Not forgotten, but loved,

not tarnished, but glistening,

like leaves adorned in amber.

I’ll be here

upon the first transformation,

and the final fall.