Early morning: the silent silhouettes,
the solid shadow of misty trees
and the promise of light.
The frosted battle of breath
and the vaguest tint of warmth
colouring in the air.
This is the herald of Autumn’s chill
the fanfare announcing Winter
a prophecy for scurrying squirrels
and the sleepy dormancy
The shallow clothing of Summer
is archived again
and wardrobes brim with bulk,
armour for the battle to keep warm.
Beauty remains, though different in form;
the red-gold gay regality that adorned
reduced to carpeting mulch
a blanket for oak and ash and beechy feet.
Whispered webs of glistening silk
stretch between twig and branch
their stealth betrayed
until day hides them again.
To everything there is a season.
Every season has its fashion -
new apparel of praise
reflecting the creativity
of a God who cares.