Detangling One Season From Another

While pulling weeds from a leftover summer's garden and pelted by enemies, Autumn' s acorns I am dusted by the dirt I've disturbed Detangling one season, from another Sad to see the gladiolus gone and the creeping vines of August, exhausted... The rude awakening that October will lead to certain frost so wicked on my wounded bones... But today, I will love the blowing breeze that tosses my hair, in haphazard direction though the sky is less than clear, my mind is cloudless Here, among the bending branches, that offer welcome Here, beside the promise of leaves, to mulch, to decompose, to turn again, to push their pretty heads above to hardened ground I know it's only time that keeps me from their hiatus beauty, And time, I have, to wait and watch My dog, content to lie in the hole he has dug, rests easily, knowing I will watch the world for awhile My afternoon energy has been depleted, but worth the effort to feel the surrounding wind, while stepping around my everyday life On the dry yellowing brown grass, just days ago, green... In an old discarded clay pot, I spy a secret admirer's souvenir... A delicate struggling stem, reaching toward the thin slice of sunlight as it peeks out from his stowed away-stashed behind the fence locale... To mark it's return with survival strength from last year's Sandy Storm A flash of magenta glory...a mum, that soon, to burst into radiance will simply be enough to fill me with wonder and appreciation for the resilience of nature's hand... I could nap in the calm that is this day...and delightfully so I credit my Irish roots, for a deeply planted love of green Most at home in the weeds and trees, the thorns and thickets, the bramble of bushes, the shrubs and the soil... Others flock, like pilgrims, to the ocean's edge But I know the trails and paths in the woven woods, as my own... and pay a poor man's homage for their lending me a lovely castle In which I find my forest fotress... Tired now, fingers pricked, by the detangling of the seasons But it is a traditional task I would have no other do... To spend the hours, helping hand, that I can gather and reap what I have sown...so simple and sweet the reward... aware that soon the sweeping colors will steal my heart and the heatwave of July will be a faded, far off memory I will search for in February's frozen earth.