Passing By

The seasons leave like grown children moving out of the house - It's fall now the sky gray the weather warmer than usual, humidity hangs about like a drape of melancholy that though dreary makes you glad it isn't much colder - I think of all the seasons past. I wonder if autumn has recollections of it's own, thus the reason it cries between moments broken with rays of inexplicably wonderful sunshine - The birds who fly away, as they must, pass by with such purposeful intent, while the ones who choose to remain eat and sing as if tomorrow were only a fable from long ago - Some days I believe winter is not coming; others I fear the cold beyond words.