Cold this morning
The traces of frost on the car seem at odds
With the gentle golds of fallen leaves.
With the cold, the leaves become eager
To leave the comfort of their branches
As though the frost is saying
“That’s it, clear off now”.
The early morning chorus of car engines,
Running while their owners clear the frost from windscreens
“Summer’s finished now” is the common rejoinder
As if it will never return.
In the park, sharp green lawns
Rapidly become a multicoloured shimmering layer of browns and golds
As the leaves left on the trees
Seek the comfort of their earthbound brothers.
First frost, first cold rain, first gentle snowflakes
All drive us to the year’s turnaround
As we already eagerly look for next summer
Wishing our lives away, season by season.
© Alan McKean
