Ancient Autumn

It is an ancient thing.

When the leaves take their bow and bend to age by casting themselves adrift into the will of the wind

When the smell of decay wafts pleasant aromas into our nostrils

When we harvest the seeds that we had planted in seasons past

When we taste the fruits of our labor, be they bitter or of a great bounty

All these are Ancient things

Lay to rest your burdens, for after the harvest we rest

Lay to rest all your love, for if it is strong it will tend to itself

Lay awake and watch the stars as the hints of winter nips at your fingers

Rest knowing that the ancient work is almost done

And soon enough, you will begin again.